


the end of all things

by misslou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Actor Harry Styles, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Broadway, Co-workers, Drunken Flirting, M/M, Musician Louis, New York City, Slow Build Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Violinist Louis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-02-28 05:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13264449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misslou/pseuds/misslou
Summary: Harry Styles is a Broadway star with a captivating voice and charming good looks, Louis Tomlinson is a talented violinist that plays in the pit of every show and goes home to his roommate, Zayn Malik, who can somehow find his way into every penthouse party in New York City.





	1. Chapter 1

Louis forced open his eyes as the alarm buzzing from his phone urged at him to wake up and begin yet another tiresome day. With several curses streaming from under his breath in the still darkness that hung in his room, Louis reached one arm over to grab his phone from the end table and quiet it with the tap of a button. 

_Fuck._

It was Monday. 6:00 AM. The start of another work week.

Louis sat up in his bed, wiping the sleep from his eyes and blinking at the windows that surrounded his bedroom in the sky-rise New York apartment he resided him. Lights from the business complexes that neighbored him were beginning to flicker to life, and the sun itself was beginning to emerge from the horizon behind the buildings. Whether Louis liked it or not, it was morning - the time for growth and new beginnings, as he would remind himself after every curse word that expelled themselves from his lips at the dawn of every day.

Louis didn’t dislike his job, he just really disliked the early mornings and long practices that he had to suffer through. 

Louis Tomlinson graduated from his university as a renowned violinist, collecting a degree in music and having dozens of job opportunities to choose from fresh out of graduation. The one particular job he wanted was playing in the orchestra of every Broadway show. It seemed almost like a _fantasy_ \- being the mind behind the music that made a show all the greatness that it ended up being.

Actually working the job, however, was a different story.

Louis grew very familiar of the early mornings, long rehearsals, and not receiving half of the credit that was deserved from every flawless performance. Everyone remembers the _actors_ or the _lyrics_ of the shows, but never the chords and melodies that gave the lyrics the importance that they gained. The honeymoon stage of working on Broadway was over and it was now just a job for Louis.

Louis loved his job, however. Even though he wasn’t the face of every show or the voice that everyone recognized, without him or the rest of the orchestra, there wouldn’t _be_ a show. Lyrics were only half of what makes Broadway music so great. Dressing up in the all-black attire, sitting down, and letting his instrument come to life with every show gave him so much pride and satisfaction and allowed him to forget about every 6 AM morning or six hour-long rehearsal that would leave him exhausted and his hands aching.

Then the alarm would go off again, and Louis would once again curse the world that gave him such a demanding opportunity. 

Rolling himself out of bed, Louis let a yawn escape from his lips. Exhaustion was stinging in his eyes. He hadn’t gotten home until midnight the previous night due to staying and holding a sectional with the rest of the string players. He was surprised from his initial audition into the Broadway scheme that the director wanted him to sit first chair and be a leader to the other members of the section. It didn’t take long for others to notice his skill and ask for his help. 

Louis didn’t even bother to flip on the light. He rifled through his dresser drawer and pulled out his outfit for the day - light-wash blue jeans, white t-shirt, army green windbreaker. It was autumn, mid-September, so it wasn’t too frightfully cold in the city yet, but a crisp wind was enough to make Louis feel chilly. 

Waltzing to the bathroom, Louis grabbed a maroon beanie that he had hung over a chair in the corner of his room and pulled it down over his head. He flicked on the bathroom light, pulled his toothbrush and toothpaste down from the cabinet, and brushed his teeth all while cursing the effect the morning had on the bags underneath his eyes.

After finishing all the steps in his morning routine, Louis unlocked to check the time. 6:15 - the typical time in which Louis left for work. He shut his bedroom door quietly behind him, careful not to wake his flatmate who was sleeping in the neighboring room. 

Louis’s roommate was a boy he had graduated with. His name was Zayn Malik, a computer science major who was offered a job at a prestigious company in the heart of the city. Louis had figured - you know, why not? - when Zayn had offered that Louis come live with him since they were both going to be working in the Big Apple. Louis hated to admit that Zayn had a lot of good things going for him. He was handsome, having cheekbones sharper than broken glass, glowing caramel skin, and slick jet-black hair that was long enough to be pulled back into an effortless small bun. He was a good flatmate, though, and the income from his high-profile tech job was enough to pay for their luxurious sky-rise apartment in Manhattan.

The sun was rising a bit higher in the sky and started to pour it’s way into the many windows of Louis’s apartment, casting a warm golden aura on the hardwood floors, a sharp contrast from the darkness of the shadows that fell out of its reach. Louis strutted past the kitchen, grabbed his violin that was sat atop the bar, and whisked out of the apartment, grabbing his keys that were hanging by the door on the way out. 

The elevator ride to the bottom level was eerily quiet, but then again, most people were still in their beds or quietly getting ready in their rooms at six in the morning. A man, who Louis had recognized from a brief encounter once or twice, shared the elevator for the descent, dressed in athletic attire and holding his golden retriever on a leash in front of him. Louis gave him a simple nod, but said nothing, relishing the comforting stillness that the early morning elevator ride was giving him. With a ding, the elevator opened, and the man with the dog jogged out of view.

Louis stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket and exited his apartment building. By this time, the sun rose, and the sky was painted a delicate peachy color. The quietness that Louis had been meditating in ever since he had awoken from his slumber was immediately shattered by the sounds of brazen car horns and loud voices of New Yorkers on their commutes. 

New York had a soundtrack that was always being played on repeat. It contained countless blasts of horns, emergency sirens, exclamations of irritated locals, curse words, and the occasional strumming of a guitar from a street performer. It was loud, but somehow, the noises seemed to blend together into a drone of white noise that played in the background of Louis’s thoughts as he strolled to and from his workplace. 

The walk to the theatre wasn’t too far. It was only a few blocks, and Louis would usually put headphones in his ears and listen to a playlist he had strung together on his phone, varying from classical ballads to pop-punk melodies. He’d lose himself in thought, blending in with the crowd of New Yorkers until eventually arriving at the place that some called a vacation, but that he called work. 

Louis played at Al Hirschfeld theatre, just one of the many theatres in the theatre district of New York City. Each theatre had a different orchestra, different cast, different show, and different feel that came with every production. It was like each theatre was a different ‘team’. One orchestra could play _the Lion King_ music in their sleep, while another could probably recite each line of _Phantom of the Opera_ without fail.

Louis was apart of the team that put on the production of _Kinky Boots_.

 _Kinky Boots_ is the tale of a man named Charlie Price who ends up forming an alliance with a drag queen to save his shoe company by mass producing a line of obnoxious high-heeled boots. It’s a fun and sweet tale, but Louis had heard it a countless number of times. After a while, he had mastered the skill of completely ignoring the dialogue itself and focusing on the sheet music that was laid out in front of him. After all, the music is what makes a musical great.

Opening the doors, Louis immediately caught the sight of one of the most complex and stunningly gorgeous sights that he had seen in his entire twenty-one years of life.

Harry Styles.

Harry Styles was the lead in _Kinky Boots_ , playing Charlie Price himself. He had the voice of an angel, capturing the attention of everyone in the audience when he opened his mouth to belt out the lyrics with such passion and fire burning in his olive colored eyes. He was tall, lightly tanned, and had the most intricate and beautiful brown curls that bounced with each prideful step the man took. Not to mention, Harry had to wear the red, high-heeled, thigh-high boots with every performance, and Louis memorized exactly when that part occurred so he could sneak a glance from down in the pit.

Harry was gorgeous, the perfect lead to such a loud and bold show. His smiling face, wearing a suit and tie on top and blue underwear and thigh-high red boots on the bottom was plastered all over New York City. Harry’s perfect smile was enough to draw people in to watch the show, and the theatre had almost a full house with every performance. Harry was a perfect performer but didn’t even know Louis’s name.

Louis had never worked up the courage to even greet Harry. The two were on two different sides of the Broadway spectrum, and Louis figured that it would be best to leave it at that. Louis was a prodigy with music and could play just about any run given to him after a bit of practice, and Harry was a stunning vocalist with a range the likes of which no one had ever seen before. Louis was hardly acknowledged for his musical work, whereas Harry was the poster-child for the play itself. Louis couldn’t even compete in Harry’s world.

With a heavy sigh, Louis cast one more hopeless glance towards Harry, who was chatting it up with another Broadway star who played one of the drag queens in the production, Liam Payne. He pushed past the doors that led to the auditorium, clutching his violin case in his hand and pushing away all the insecurities that began to swell in his brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the prologue !!  
> inspired by the song 'the end of all things' by panic! at the disco  
> also look up "kinky boots brendon urie" to find the pic i'm referring to when i talk about harry on the poster for the show lmao


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another Monday.

“Good morning, Louis!”

Louis flashed his musician friend, a chipper Irishman named Niall Horan, a sideways glance as he moved his way towards his seat in the pit.

Niall was a clarinet player, and Louis felt as if the blonde lad resembled his instrument in a lot of strange ways. He was loud, lively, and unpredictable, and his words could either energize and vitalize or lull into sleep. He spoke with a lot of range in his vocals, throwing out jokes and swear words without even giving them any second thought. Much like the clarinet, many didn’t understand Niall’s character. Being loud and adventurous as he was, he was a dependable man and would do just about anything for the ones he called friends. Louis thought it was humorous how much musicians match their instruments.

Louis saw himself in the violin. A violin was slow, steady, and rustic, only coming to life with the hands of those who were skillful and patient enough to play it. The sounds could bring a person to tears or keep them on the edge of their seats, hungry for more. There was an old charm in a violin, a simplicity that some appreciated and others failed to understand. A violin would waltz over the notes with such grace and elegance, connecting each note to another with a smooth layer of silk as they left the strings and dissipated into the open air.

That being said, the differences between Niall and Louis were quite obvious.

“Morning, Nialler,” Louis murmured in return, adjusting the beanie on his head and slumping down in his chair. A few members of the orchestra were already seated, putting rosin on their bows and beginning to tune. Each one of them bore the same sleep-deprived expression, moving in mechanical movements as they did the same thing they did with every rehearsal.

Niall was seated in the second row, behind Louis, and more towards the center of the orchestra. Whenever Louis would look down the line of players, Niall would lean forward and make a dumb face at him, which was usually enough to draw a snicker out of the violin player. The Irish were quite silly, Louis had deduced after playing with the man for quite some time.

Louis could see Niall apprehensively fidgeting in his seat from the corner of his eye, desperately wanting to continue the conversation. “I heard you practiced with the strings last night,” he managed to add with the typical cheeky smile on his pale face.

Louis nodded, opening his violin case and beaming at the sight of his beautiful instrument. It was the best of its kind, coated in a stunningly gorgeous ombre brown color. Louis had gotten it as a graduation present from his mother who had spent a good amount of paychecks to purchase it. Louis had been very vigilant to make sure nothing could damage it. 

“I did,” Louis answered, carefully taking the bow out of his case and starting the process of rosining the strings. 

There was a moment of awkward silence before Niall spoke again.

“Well, how did it go?”

“It went pretty well,” Louis replied, his statement ending with a tired yawn. “Got back pretty late though. Didn’t want to come in today.”

Niall chuckled, his deep laugh echoing throughout the auditorium. “That’s how it is every morning.”

Louis smirked, taking out his violin and pushing the case underneath his chair. “You’re very right, Nialler, you’re very right.”

Placing his phone on his music stand, Louis unlocked it to briefly check the time. 6:56. Rehearsal was due to begin in four minutes.

Morning rehearsals would start with the pit working on tunes for two hours and the actors practicing their lines and vocals elsewhere. Then at 9, there would be breakfast, and Louis would usually grab something small like a banana or a muffin and sit by himself until 10, which was when the orchestra and the actors would be together on stage again. The show would be ran a few times, and particular parts would be focused on more intently, until 1 PM. Then, the crew would be dismissed until an hour before showtime, which ranged from being as early as 2 PM or as late as 7 PM. Actors would be rushed into hair and makeup, and the pit members would practice as much as they could before the show.

It was a busy schedule, and it happened almost every day.

Some days, practices would be cut short to only an hour or two. On Wednesdays, there would be no practice or performance at all. For the most part, however, Louis sat in the same seat, playing the same music, and listening to the same lines every day. Whenever Louis would feel the boredom creep in, and almost make the ultimate decision to quit the day-in-day-out lifestyle, he would perform, and the standing ovation from the crowd would make him want to keep doing it for the rest of his life.

Louis sat and stared at the notes on the sheet music in front of him until the director came and assumed his position on his podium, tapping his baton on his stand to capture the orchestra’s attention. 

Louis liked the orchestral director. He was a chipper man with a chiseled jaw bone, wild brown locks, and a quirky half-smirk that worked as neither an approval or a rejection of a facial expression. Going by the name of Dr. Nick, full name being Nick Grimshaw, the man was extremely skilled at what he did. He taught his orchestra to work in a way of self-dependence, where at times, he would only flick his wrist in an upward or downward motion to signal a downbeat every other measure. He knew that the talent that flowed from the music wasn’t coming much from him but from the instruments and the musicians seated in front of him. He was a humble man, and Louis admired that.

“I would like a concert C from the cellist.” Dr. Nick proposed, holding out his baton and glancing to the left of Louis where the handful of cello players sat. The woman in the first chair position angled her bow, and with a short breath, pulled it over the string to produce a low and clear sound. At this signal, the other members of the symphony all brought their instruments to life and tuned to the initial C until satisfied with their pitch.

The rest of rehearsal went as planned, and like it had been every other day.

Dr. Nick would guide the orchestra through the pieces, stopping and working on complicated staccato runs or long, maestoso chords. The two hours seemed to pass by relatively quickly - or, so to speak - according to schedule. The days were all planned out in an agenda in Louis’s mind. 

Rehearsal. Break. Rehearsal. Break. Rehearsal. Showtime. Sleep. Repeat.

It was an endless tape set on repeat. With an inaudible sigh, Louis packed away his violin tight in its case and stood to stretch his aching limbs. It was 10 AM - right on schedule - and the staff-hosted breakfast was due to begin just like it did every morning. In about five seconds, Niall would appear behind Louis with some witty, chipper toned comment that Louis would pretend to care about.

“Those long tones in _Land of Lola_ sure are a killer, yeah?”

Just as predicted, the dyed-blonde Irishman appeared next to Louis’s shoulder, his sky-blue eyes bright with an excitement Louis had yet to find that morning. 

Louis shrugged his shoulders. “I guess,” he added with a nod. “Let’s grab something to eat. I think I could use some tea as well.”

Like a lost puppy, Niall followed behind Louis as the duo went through the doors of the auditorium and towards the main foyer of the theatre. The staff was always gracious with the breakfasts, and Louis assumed that their generosity came with the guilt of forcing men and women out of their beds at unreasonable hours almost every day of the week. Sometimes the breakfast foods were handmade, and sometimes it was catered in by a nearby restaurant. Nevertheless, Louis didn’t go for the hot pancakes or eggs anyways. He usually grabbed a fruit, maybe some tea, and sat down to scroll through his phone.

Opening the doors to the common area, most of the staff were already gathered around the tables, filling their plates and laughing away the sleepiness of the morning. At the front of the line was the star himself, Harry Styles, sharing a laugh with his co-star, Liam Payne.

Liam, from what Louis had observed, was a quirky fellow. He played the second lead role in the play, a drag queen named Lola who helps the main character, Charlie, save the day. In his full hair and makeup, Liam looked like a totally different person, shining and standing out from everyone else in the cast. Outside of character, Liam looked like he belonged in the background, nothing really too noticeable to remember. He was, however, openly gay, and no one could even question that much from talking to him for more than five seconds.

Harry was wearing a black, button-up, silk shirt with the top button sultrily unbuttoned. He was adorning thick silver rings on almost all of his fingers, catching the light as he held his plate and moved further down the line. The man was _gorgeous_ , prettier than any human that Louis had ever seen before - male or female. He radiated charisma, charm, and glamour, catching the eyes of anyone fortunate enough to capture a glance of his grandeur. 

Realizing that he might’ve been staring for longer than what was deemed appropriate, Louis moved his gaze downward.

“C’mon, Lou, let’s grab some fruit, yeah?” Niall offered, briefly stepping in front of Louis and giving him a ditzy glance backward.

“Yeah,” Louis murmured, still caught off-guard, the image of Harry’s shining smile still imprinted in his mind. He cast one last look towards the actor, biting the inside of his lip as Harry moved away from the table and disappeared into the crowd of people, blissfully unaware of the admiration pouring from Louis just yards away.

Louis snagged a banana from the nearby fruit table, internally decided against making himself some tea, and walked out the front entrance to eat his breakfast outside on the curb with the honks of nearby taxi cabs blaring in his ears.

* * *

“Let’s go all the way from the top, yeah?”

Louis flashed a glance over his shoulder at the stage where Harry Styles was stood, his enticingly unbuttoned black shirt strewn over his chest and falling at the curve of his hips as his eyes fell towards the back of the auditorium where the director was sat. He had a broad smile on his face, his lips upturned at such an angle that allowed for his shining white teeth to reflect the stage lights and leave Louis almost blind in their wake.

Harry had a voice like no other, Louis had also noted.

Harry’s speaking voice, out of character, was low and sultry. He seemed to stretch words out for more time than was typically allotted and pronounced each syllable with a honey-like smoothness that would hold the attention of anyone listening, leaving them hanging on his every breath. His plush, sugar-pink lips were round, pursing slightly as he carved his words out of thin air with such precise diction. Louis longed to hold a conversation with the man because his intelligent and compelling personality shone through like the sunlight in Louis’s windows in the morning.

Harry’s stage voice was entirely different - about the difference of night and day.

Harry’s whole _persona_ changed whenever he laced up the red boots and graced the stage as Charlie Price. His eyebrows were more expressive, his eyes more daring and venturesome, and his posture became more emblematic than what was typically seen from the man offstage. He enveloped the role, like any other great actor, and Louis always yearned for the moment where he could exchange Harry, the twenty-year-old Englishman with softly-tanned skin, a tall stature, and dark curls for the embodiment of extravagance and poshness itself, strutting across the stage in those damn red, thigh-high, high-heeled fucking boots.

Louis was a mess.

Louis didn’t even _know_ Harry. All he knew was that he could pass as a tenor, soprano, and falsetto all in one, liked his eggs scrambled in the morning, only drank water from a Nalgene that he had purchased at the nearby Target, and could belt the lyrics to the entire soundtrack of _Kinky Boots_ with no hesitation whatsoever.

Louis wasn’t - say to speak - totally enamored by Harry himself either, but more so by his character and the presence he brought to a room, whether it be full of people or not. The _idea_ of Harry was a concept that Louis fathomed many times before. There was no way that a man that beautiful could sing, memorize lines, and give a flawless performance to a sold-out audience almost every single night. Of course, Louis wanted to actually speak to Harry and learn more about who he was offstage, though he didn’t think he could ever bring himself to actually speak to him. He wasn’t on the same level.

The actors and the musicians were part of two different worlds - two different appreciations for showbiz. Louis was a background character and Harry was the main headline. It just wouldn’t work, and that very deduction ate away at Louis whenever he was unfortunate enough to sit in silence.

Louis blinked his dry eyes, hyper-aware that he had been unblinkingly casting his attention towards the center stage for far too long. Harry had since moved, taking his position stage left, and Dr. Nick was tapping on his podium to gather the orchestra’s attention. Louis quickly beckoned his head back and clutched the violin that was sat on his lap, exhaling a long breath of defeat, and bringing his instrument to rest under his chin.

Louis watched Dr. Nick subtly give the four preparatory beats from his baton, the stick itself barely making any visible movement. On cue, the orchestra roared to life, filling the auditorium with sweet chords of string melodies and woodwind articulations, immediately giving the breath of life into the dimly lit and once-quiet hall. Louis felt his shoulders relax as the tension disappeared almost as quickly as the silence had, pulling the bow over the strings of his instrument and allowing himself to melt into the music that he was making. It was therapeutic, really, and in that moment, Louis loved being a musician.

The voices of the cast began to fall into the empty spaces provided by the music, adding chipper harmonies to make way for the duet to be sung by ‘Charlie’s father’ and ‘young Charlie’ in the opening song, _The Most Beautiful Thing in the World_. The strings swelled, the drums kept a steady beat, and the brass kept brazen undertones as the song progressed.

 _The Most Beautiful Thing in the World_.

Louis found it amusing. A song called _The Most Beautiful Thing in the World_ being sung by the literal most beautiful thing in the world - Harry fucking Styles.

After a brief bit of dialogue between Charlie - Harry - and a young woman playing Nicola - Charlie’s lover, Louis hears Harry’s voice fill the void in the auditorium that Louis, and everyone else, was waiting for. Harry’s voice completed harmony after harmony, and though Louis couldn’t see his expressive face singing the lyrics and his sculpted jawline speaking each word of dialogue, it was - truly - the most beautiful thing in the world.

Louis began to lose his concentration, and the notes on the sheet music started to look like blobs of black and white all merged together into unreadable phrases. It was hell - having to hear the voices of angels and be stuck with his eyes glued to pieces of paper. He wanted to see the show - just once. He wanted to watch Harry glide, sing, _prosper_ on the damn stage. 

But he couldn’t. He was a mere violinist, adding to the dozens of miniscule voices that were never acknowledged for all the singing that they did.

Louis blinked a few times until the notes’ outlines began to sharpen once more. He pushed Harry’s voice out of his head and focused on the buildup that was happening within the pit, pulling his bow across the strings of his instrument to add to the beautiful noise that was being created by the musicians around him. 

Theatre was an art, and Louis was an artist. The thing was - Louis’ artwork was in the Metropolitan, and Harry’s was in the fucking Louvre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh i love this so far :-)
> 
> chapters will get longer, i promise!!


	3. Chapter 3

Louis listened to the roar of the crowd emit their thunderous applause at the end of Monday’s performance. He was sat at the attentive position among the other musicians, his violin stood on his knee with his fingers wrapped around the fingerboard, his watchful eyes awaiting the word of Dr. Nick to allow them to start packing up.

The finale was another great spectacle, Harry’s voice heard above all the others as he pranced the stage in high-heeled boots, belting out lyric after lyric with, what Louis imagined, a huge smile on his face. The audience had risen to their feet in a standing ovation, throwing roses towards the stage and giving a deafening round of applause that drowned out the music itself. “Thank you for coming out tonight, and drive home safe!” Harry had beckoned with a bow, signaling that it was time for the audience to file out of the theatre, buzzing with the adrenaline the show had given them.

“Pack up, everyone,” Dr. Nick instructed, pulling out the fabric case he had for his batons and sliding the stick inside of it. “See you all tomorrow. Shortened rehearsal, 10 AM call time.”

Every now and then, whenever Dr. Nick was in a generous mood, he would completely alleviate the 7 - 10 AM strict-orchestral practice and allow the musicians to file in when breakfast was served. Other times, if the music was sub-par during a performance, Dr. Nick would look at him with a furrow in his brows and say “7 AM. Don’t be late.”

Louis, satisfied, put away his violin and shuffled his sheet music into a folder on his music stand. He brushed away a bit of dust that had collected on his black blazer and rose to his feet, glancing over his shoulder at Harry and the rest of the crew quietly talking amongst themselves, still in full costume.

“Good performance, Tommo!”

Louis jumped a bit at Niall’s cheerful response as the Irishman seemed to appear out of thin air beside him. Dressed in all-black, Niall always cleaned up to look pretty spiffy, and even brought out a pair of thick-rimmed black glasses to wear with his concert outfit, to which he called his “spectacle spectacles”.

Louis nodded, a half-smirk upturning the right side of his lips. “Yeah, it was pretty good, ‘innit?” he responded with a brightness glinting in his eyes. Despite the vitalizing performance, it was nearing 10 PM, and the exhaustion of the day was beginning to claw at Louis’s subconscious. “I’m excited about the short practice tomorrow.”

Niall nodded quite enthusiastically in agreement, holding his clarinet case in his hands. “Oh definitely,” he added, adjusting the black frames that sat on his face. “Let’s go home and get some sleep.”

Niall’s apartment - thankfully - was in the opposite direction of Louis’s. Louis liked Niall’s company and thought of him as one of his friends, but he really relished the feeling of isolation from walking from the theatre to his flat in the streetlight-illuminated night. Though Louis wasn’t alone, and his walk was accompanied by the thousands of commuting New Yorkers walking down the streets at any given time, he felt as if he was experiencing a different kind of solitude. 

A vast change of scenery, so to speak.

Almost the entire day, Louis would sit around the members of the orchestra and listen to the actors of the musical talk and sing until his head would ache from the sheer amount of noise that was occurring. Louis didn’t like to talk much because he didn’t want to contribute to the endless stream of clamor that seemed to be sounding at all times.

The walk back to the apartment was something that Louis appreciated. He would put in his headphones, hit shuffle on a playlist, and stuff his hands in the pockets of his jacket as he walked down crosswalks and sidewalks, pushing away the hustle and bustle of his career and all the characteristics of stardom and showbiz.

And Louis did just that.

Louis waved goodbye to Niall as the Irishman turned right and Louis turned left. He immediately felt like just another local - no spotlights, no musical medleys, and no talk about chords and progressions to flood his brain. Louis felt like a part of the crowd, which sometimes, is what he longed to be. No one on the busy streets knew him as a Broadway violinist who played tirelessly day-in-day-out until achiness set in on the fingers. In fact, no one even knew him as being British. He was seen as a regular commuter - a New Yorker.

And Louis relished this feeling of anonymity until arriving back at his apartment.

When Louis arrived home, Zayn was sprawled out on the couch in the very window-enshrouded living room. The lights of the city’s skyline poured in bits of blues and yellows onto the light-colored hardwood floor that was already painted with an amber glow by the flames of candlelight Zayn had lit.

Zayn Malik was an interesting character. He was one of those tech ‘gurus’ that was practically thrown scholarships when applying for his secondary education. He knew just about every programming language there was - a concept Louis could never fathom because it was essentially a bunch of letters and symbols that formed a complex system of commands called a ‘language’. He was given a grand opportunity to work at a company called LimeWare, one of the biggest tech names in the United States. Even being a new-ish company, LimeWare had been quick to jump into the market of app, software, and AI development, and Zayn was personally invited to join the team.

Without really knowing Zayn, some would think of him as being the ‘artsy’ type. He enjoyed paintings, and would sometimes bring another big, gold-rimmed (for the apartment details are always gold, Zayn had established this from the beginning) masterpiece to hang one some wall of the house. His style would change based on the weather - quite literally. He would sometimes wear loose-fitting jeans and crewnecks with plaid details peeking out from underneath, topped off with obnoxiously large circular glasses. Other times, Zayn would be seen in sleek black attire, sometimes fastening a blazer over his pinstriped button-up. 

The final form of Zayn’s style was his party-goer attire.

From being in such a big company that he was, Zayn was often formally invited to penthouse parties ran by co-workers or friends of co-workers. These parties weren’t what Louis had been used to attending in college with pulsating, multi-colored lights and the smell of alcohol always seeming to linger in the air. The parties Zayn, and sometimes Louis if Zayn was feeling as if he needed a plus-one, would attend were much grander and more sophisticated than the average affair.

Zayn’s outfits for these parties were effortlessly classy. Sometimes he would all black, either it being with loose, high-waisted black slacks and button-up or with a spiffy, slender suit set. Sometimes he would wear a floral suit, others he would wear tweed, and sometimes even suede. Whatever outfit he ended up wearing, Zayn looked like a million bucks every time.

Louis enjoyed going to these gatherings, but most of the time, he felt pretty left out. Zayn would be the only person he knew and felt comfortable enough talking to, and Zayn would usually introduce him with “this is Louis, he plays violin on Broadway”. Louis hated that his label was “violin player”, but he also knew that there was nothing more interesting about him, and he would have to suffer through the questions of how it was, what it was about, and if he liked doing it from overdressed individuals sporting champagne glasses.

Of course, every party, whether it be a typical college function or a prestigious wealthy affair, involved plenty of alcohol and drugs. Even the rich indulged in the substances, it seemed pretty much unavoidable. No amount of money can ever replace the feeling of not being able to control the conscious mind, but a certain amount of money could purchase the ability to do so. The penthouse parties supplied unlimited alcohol, usually a good amount of weed, and lines of cocaine on - at the least - one countertop.

Louis laid his violin case near the front door and practically threw himself onto a living room chair, closing his eyes as the fatigue of the day began to capture his bones and joints into a paralyzing exhaustion.

“How was work today, Lou?” Zayn asked, flipping off the TV and rolling his caramel eyes over to meet with Louis’s. Zayn looked pretty tired himself. His black hair was up in a loose bun, but pieces of it had fallen in front of his forehead. The amber glow of the nearby candlelight outlined every bag under his eye and painted it with a shadow.

“It was alright, nothing out of the ordinary,” Louis murmured. He looked away from Zayn after his initial response and closed his eyes again. “How was work for you?”

“The same,” Zayn answered in a dull tone, sharply exhaling as he turned his head to stare out of the window towards the skyline. “Party this Friday night at the Bentley’s, you remember, the brothers with the rooftop pool?”

Louis smirked as he remembered that particular night. There had been champagne - so much fucking champagne - and Louis had ended up pushing one of the Bentley brothers straight into the pool. He couldn’t even remember how he had gotten home that night, but he knew that it involved hopping onto a party bus full of 60 year-old women celebrating someone’s retirement.

“I suppose you want me to come with?” Louis mustered, propping his head up on his hand and flashing his eyes towards Zayn.

“It’s the fucking Bentley’s, Lou,” Zayn responded in an exasperated exhale, sitting up on the couch and running a hand through the loose hairs falling in front of his forehead. “I can’t go in there alone!”

Louis smirked again, managing to find the energy to rise to his feet and walk across the span of the living room towards the kitchen and the direction of his bedroom.

The flat that Louis and Zayn shared was a pretty decent size, especially for two kids who graduated from university not too long beforehand. It was spacious, and Zayn really pulled for the open, modern-esque floor plan. There were plenty of windows, more than Louis had ever considered putting into a living space, which allowed for tons of natural light in the daytime and a pretty view of the twinkling cityscape in the night. Zayn liked the idea of foliage and Louis didn’t object with his roommate had brought in quite a few plants in white square vases to put around the flat. Most of the furniture - the barstools, couch, chairs, and end tables - were white, and most of the metal accents - the silverware, picture frames, and chair legs - were gold.

Zayn was particular about the color combination, compared it to something about the ‘fluidity’ of the living space.

“I suppose you’re right,” Louis called over his shoulder as he went down the small corridor towards his bedroom. “I’ll go.”

“Sick,” Zayn called after him, standing from his own position on the couch. “Goodnight, Lou.”

Louis waved a reply and opened the golden doorknob to his room, softly shutting it behind him.

Louis’s room was simple and elegant, nothing compared to the decoration Zayn had put into his own room. Louis appreciated the simplicity and basic color scheme of the whites, blacks, and dark browns that came with his furniture and decoration in his living space. His sheets were white, his comforter a bold black and white pattern, and the hardwood was stained a darker color than what was seen in the living room. He too had large windows, which Louis didn’t totally dislike - peering out onto the city was a therapeutic practice, and Louis could spend plenty of time relaxing and drinking tea whilst doing so.

Louis glanced down at his bed, neatly made and temptingly soft. He wanted nothing more than to just climb into its layers and sleep until the sunlight streaming through the windows woke him up, maybe even with the sound of songbirds and angelic singing in the background.

But he couldn’t. He had to shower, brush his teeth, undress, set his alarm, and then fall asleep with the discomforting knowledge of having to wake up the next morning to the sound of the obnoxious reminder of more fucking work. 

Louis groaned, making his way to the bathroom and grumpily turning on the futuristic-looking shower. Louis’s bathroom, like the rest of the apartment, was done in a white, modern fashion in which everything was sleek and every light fixture was square for some odd reason. The shower had a glass door, which looked very chic, but it always made Louis feel slightly vulnerable.

Louis shed his clothes into a pile on the geometrically patterned ivory bath rug and stepped into the steamy relief that the warm waters of the shower betrothed to him.

The warm shower at the end of every day was the therapy that Louis never failed to anticipate. It was a time where he was truly alone and completely exposed to the shower of warmth that covered his body and soothed his aching muscles. He would often stand with closed eyes, allowing the water to soak his hair and trickle down his chin, enclosing him completely in a vat of warmth.

Louis took his time with the end-of-the-night shower. He washed and conditioned his hair until it was left feeling silky-soft, lathered his body in ‘fiji waterfall’ scented soap, and replayed every notable memory in his head of the previous day until he could feel the heat of the water begin to weaken. With that, he promptly shut the water off, patted his face dry with the white towel hanging on the rack just outside the shower doors, and nakedly walked back into his bedroom.

Louis was too tired to put on a proper set of night-clothes. He simply picked out a pair of boxers from his top drawer to slide up his thighs and cover himself with, barely being able to make out the red and black plaid pattern just from the twinkling lights of the city outside his windows. 

With damp hair and a few droplets of water still falling down his back, Louis collapsed in his plush bed, closing his eyes and falling into a well-deserved sleep faster than he could remember that tomorrow, it would all begin again.

* * *

Louis was rudely awoken by the vexatious sound of his morning alarm. Though this time, the sun properly rose and the sky was a powder blue color instead of the unforgiving darkness of dawn, the annoyance of having to be awake without needing to be pricked at the corners of Louis’s tired blue eyes. He silenced his phone, head limply falling back onto the pillow as he stared at the ceiling in hopes that time would suddenly stop and that he would have no obligations for as long as he wished.

But that never happened, and why should it?

Mumbling a slew of curse words under his breath, Louis rolled out of the comfort of his bed to begin his morning routine and slip out the door of his bedroom, his movements sloppier as he knew that Zayn had already left for work.

Grabbing his violin case and his apartment key, Louis reluctantly left the coziness of his flat to once again embark on the fruitful agenda of making music.

The walk to the theatre seemed shorter than usual, and Louis walked into the foyer 10:35 AM - right in the middle of breakfast.

Stage crew, actors, and musicians were all laughing and chatting amongst themselves, holding plates of french toast and assorted berries. Almost immediately, Louis sighted Harry, mostly due to the fact that he was standing right in front of Louis.

The sudden rush of cooler air from the opening of the door caused Harry to glance over in Louis’s direction, his plush, pink lips pursed and his green eyes slightly narrowed in an idle gaze towards the entrance. He was wearing a satin, white button-up shirt with rose embroidery on the shoulders that introduced a pop of color to catch the eyes of those around him. On his legs were - what looked like - black slacks, which were defining the curves of his thighs as he stood, popping out a hip ever-so-subtly.

For a brief moment, Louis’s eyes met Harry’s - or maybe he was just confirming the suspicion that the door had been opened which was the source of the sudden breeze in the otherwise still air of the foyer.

Whatever it was, Harry looked away within a heartbeat and laughed at a joke Liam had made.

Louis let his gaze fall momentarily. Of course, Harry wasn’t looking at _him_. Harry was the shining starlet - he was so far above the musicians, the backstage hands, and the rest of the crew. Why would he ever bother to register Louis’s face in his encyclopedia of people that _actually_ mean something? People that are unforgettable?

Straightening his shoulders and pulling his denim jacket down a bit, Louis made his way over to the table that displayed numerous kinds of baked goods and grabbed a banana muffin for a small snack. He briefly looked around for Niall but wasn’t too disappointed with the Irish lad wasn’t anywhere in sight. He’d show up - eventually.

Louis finished his muffin rather quickly in an effort to make his way into the auditorium faster and rid himself of the dense amount of people in such a small space. He wasn’t really in the mood for socialization neither. Sure, Louis could walk up to any familiar face and strike up a conversation if he wanted to, but usually, he just didn’t want to. It would mean he would have to think of questions to ask and answers to reply with. Too much effort.

Slinking through the doors, Louis exited the crowd and found his seat in the orchestral arrangement, holding his violin case in his lap.

For the first time in a long time, Louis was alone in the auditorium.

It was unnerving, in a way, but also equally as calming. Every small sound seemed to echo into more than what it needed to be. Louis felt as if he was being swallowed up by all the empty space that floated around him. It was peaceful, but it all felt so wrong, like Louis was intruding on a territory that he shouldn’t encounter alone.

Louis passed the time scrolling through social media until the auditorium began to quickly fill itself with the bodies of musicians and actors as the time neared 11 AM. Louis noticed the peppy step of Niall in the crowd, charismatically talking it up with a few brass players beside him.

Harry Styles walked in with a gliding stride, movements posh enough to make Louis cast him a sideways glance. His hands were stuffed in the pants of his slacks and his head was cocked backward in laughter at some insignificant comment made by some haughty co-star. His grin was wide, displaying his set of blindingly white teeth, causing his cheeks to push up into his eyes and contort them into a sunnified crinkle. 

Biting his lip, Louis quickly shot his glance down at his folded hands that were sat in his lap.

It wasn’t his fault that Harry was so charming. The curly-haired man had a certain air that coiled around him, enveloping him in a cloud of alluring mystique that accompanied him in every room he entered. It seemed as if the fucking sun would go out of it’s way just to shine a golder-than-usual light down on the porcelain skin and chocolate curls of Harry Styles if he asked nicely.

“Hey, Tommo!”

Louis jumped a bit at Niall’s abrupt greeting, flashing him a look of pained annoyance as he whisked by. Louis couldn’t even reply in time before Niall was already sat in his own seat and popping a reed into his mouth to prepare for the practice ahead. Louis sighed a hot breath of discomfort. He would rather be anywhere else but there - in his seat - and positioned to play his stupid violin and listen to Harry Styles’s stupid voice meander about words and belt out lyrics for the next two hours.

Nevertheless, Louis rosined his bow and prepared himself to enter the rehearsal with an attitude that was prepared to endure the practice head-on. He rolled his shoulders back, feeling a slight ache in his bones as he did so, groaning a bit as he watched Dr. Nick take to the podium and slide his baton out from its case.

And Tuesday’s rehearsal went like all the rest.

There was a blithe disposition about the cast as they prepared for Tuesday night’s 8 PM showtime, pleasantly aware of the day-off that came with the middle of the week. Though Wednesday was an odd day for a lazy day, Louis graciously accepted having at least one day a week where he didn’t have to change into clothes and wake up to the sound of a bleating alarm clock. Zayn worked Wednesdays as well, and Louis quite enjoyed having the flat to himself where he could walk around without pants unjudged.

The rehearsal ended up being pretty amusing, to say the least.

Dr. Nick was in an enjoyable mood, cracking jokes and making fun of the actors during breaks in the music. Louis caught the silly glances given to him by Niall a few chairs down more often than usual, and at one point, made a few in return. Liam acted so overly-dramatic in one of his scenes that it caused laughs from the directors and stage crew to rumble from their positions in the back of the auditorium or perched off-stage.

The mood was just generally lighter, and Louis found himself with an unchanging smile on his lips for most of the day.

1:00 PM came around and the cast were dismissed until 7 in the evening, just like always. Louis eagerly stuffed his bow and instrument back into its case before sliding it underneath his chair and catching up with Niall on the way out of the auditorium. Most afternoons, Louis would accompany Niall to a bistro or cafe for a light lunch before eventually parting ways again to dress for the upcoming performance. Louis sort-of hated how his life was ushered into a pattern of timeframes and deadlines, but with a job such as the one he had, he didn’t really have much of a choice.

“Today was fun,” Louis stated to Niall as the two pushed open the doors of the theatre and were greeted by the crisp, autumn air of the outdoors. The sky was cloudless - a cerulean color - and the sun bearing down on the countless skyscrapers in the city, causing blue-tinted shadows to fill the alleyways and side streets. Louis stuffed his hands into his denim pockets.

“It really was,” Niall responded, more enthusiastically than Louis had expected. The blonde Irishman’s eyes were just about the same color as the sky itself. “I’m excited to sleep in tomorrow.”

“Oh, fuck, me too,” Louis exhaled, rolling his eyes as the very thought of being able to roll around in bed until whenever he fucking felt like the next morning seemed to tease him. “7 AM call-time for Thursday though. Bet.”

“Don’t think about that yet!” Niall exclaimed, a laugh escaping from his rosy lips. “Focus on the present, Tommo!”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Louis agreed, dropping his gaze and focusing on a stray penny he moved past on the sidewalk. “What place are we hitting up today?”

“I was thinking just some Starbucks. Mainly because I want a frappuccino.” Niall answered matter-of-factly, casting Louis a malicious sideways glance which was enough to cause a bit of laughter.

“Starbucks, Nialler? Have we become that simple?” Louis responded with a chuckle, glancing up at the crosswalk sign that had given them the go-ahead to keep walking across the street, impatient cars growling at him to move a little faster.

Niall shrugged his shoulders. “We can sit outside. That’s fancy enough, yeah? You can eat your scone or whatever-the-fuck, and I’ll have my frappuccino.”

Louis rolled his eyes, finding the familiar green-and-white sign of a Starbucks nearby - because, fuck, it’s New York City and they’re bloody everywhere - and walking towards it. “I suppose that’ll suffice,” he cooed, rolling his head back on his neck a bit and letting the sunlight cast a peachy glow on his skin.

The duo entered the coffee shop, ordered the mainstream items that they loved to poke fun of but equally couldn’t get enough of, and made their way towards the patio to sit underneath a forest-green umbrella. Niall had a beige-colored, whipped-cream-heavy, sugary drink in one hand and a ham and cheese sandwich in the other, and Louis carried with him a caramel mocha and chocolate chip scone. A perfect day.

“Any plans coming up?” Niall asked innocently, eagerly taking a large bite out of the hand and cheese sandwich that was matter-of-factly embellished with whole-wheat bread.

Louis shrugged, taking a cautious sip of his beverage. “Zayn’s invited me to a party on Friday night - the Bentley’s. I think I remember telling you about what happened there last time.”

“The one with the pool?” Niall asked. Fuck, did he have a memory. A unneededly spot-on memory.

“That’s the one,” Louis praised with a lilty smile apparent in his voice. “To be honest, I’m pretty excited.”

“Be sure to tell me how that goes. I’m going to a house party.”

“At least the affair I’m attending isn’t held in the basement of someone’s rental that they can’t afford.”

Niall scoffed. “Both of these parties are going to include alcohol, drugs, and a lot of people that talk just to hear their own voice. Yours just might have a bit more champagne.”

Louis pursed his lips, taking another sip of his coffee with an amusing shrug. “Touche, Nialler.”

The boys conversed for the greater part of two hours before agreeing that it was time to get back to their separate apartments and prepare for the late night ahead. It was the same routine - move back to 45th street, say a temporary goodbye, and proceed to walk a few blocks alone before entering the familiar grounds of the sunlit flat he called home.

The afternoon was Louis’s favorite time of day to spend back at the flat.

The open floor plan and the many windows allowed for the sunlight to practically pour inside, drenching the hardwood floors and white decor in a golden glamor that made Louis feel so warm and pleasant and home. Time seemed to stand still in the wake of the allure that the sun provided, giving Louis an overwhelming feeling of comfort and easiness as he stood in the living room, eyes twinkling as they watched the surrounding buildings glisten in the direct sunlight.

Louis didn’t start his process of getting ready until 5 PM anyway. The current timeframe he was experiencing was his mid-afternoon free period. He meandered towards the plush, white sofa, falling limply down onto it’s cushions and pulling out his phone to check up on anything that he might’ve missed.

So far, there was nothing to note. His sister is with her boyfriend, again. Niall had already updated Snapchat that he was about to take “a cracker of a nap”. Some long-forgotten kid he knew from having freshman English with was going off on Twitter about how terrible British traffic was.

Feeling a bit, perhaps, too content, Louis opened the Snapchat camera and snapped a selfie of him lying on the overly-modern sofa with a sleepy grin, his azure eyes soft and endearing, captioning it “feeling good today” with a sun emoji at the end. He posted it, smiled a small smirk of internal satisfaction, and drifted off into a nap.

* * *

Louis awoke, not with a sudden start, but more with a coaxed opening of his eyes, as if being called out of his slumber by his internal alarm clock persuading him not to be late for his later engagements. The first noticeable thing about the surroundings was the once flaxen sunlight was now a fiery orange color, illuminating the satin finishes of some household objects with an orange flame.

Louis glanced at the time. _5:30. Not bad_. It was as if his own mind kept him from oversleeping. He had done so plenty of times in the past, and each time he was met with a disapproving scowl or flushed exclamation from Dr. Nick, and for fear of that happening again, Louis just didn’t let it.

A very groggy Louis stood from the sofa and raised his arms in a stretch, almost immediately jumping as he heard the front door swing open and the sight of a very frazzled Zayn now filled the doorway.

Louis yawned, waving his hand as a greeting to his flatmate. “Hey, Zayn, how was work?”

“Shit,” Zayn spat in response, groaning to himself as he dropped his messenger back beside the door and immediately paced towards the fridge in the kitchen. The whole ‘open floor plan’ shit basically connected the living room and the kitchen, and Louis watched as Zayn opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. “Need a drink.”

“That bad, huh?” Louis chirped, running his fingers through his hair that was still thick with hairspray from his morning’s style.

Zayn popped open the bottle and brought it to his lips, drinking his frustration away with a large mouthful of the alcohol to meditate with. “Yeah, the stocks weren’t too hot today, and a program malfunctioned a bit. Lots of code to fix tomorrow.”

Louis nodded, pretending that he fully understood what Zayn was on about. “Right. Well, I’ve got to get ready. Show tonight.”

“Show every night,” Zayn responded, amusement glinting in his truffle-colored eyes as he brought the beer to his lips again, the corner of his mouth upturning in a smirk as he drank. “Go get ready then you little prodigy.”

Snorting a bit of unexpected laughter, Louis slinked away to his bedroom and closed the door behind him. He pulled out one of the many black blazers, black button-ups, black bow-ties, black slacks, and black socks he had in his possession. Being apart of a dress-code that was strictly and simply the command “wear black”, Louis had grown quite the wardrobe of black garments. He had all different kinds of fabrics of black shirts - satin, cotton, silk, linen - all different kinds of fittings of black slacks - high waisted, loose-legged, tight fitted - and all the styles of tie that he could ever need. Though the monochromatic color scheme may seem a bit boring, Louis worked with what he was given, and fuck, did he look godly dressed in all black.

Today’s assortment consisted of a black blazer that accentuated the curve of his back and was rolled at the elbows - because Louis was ‘cool’ and had to maintain that reputation at all costs - a black linen button-up with the color popped only subtly, and tight-fitted black slacks that were almost a sort of legging material. He looked sharp, but then again, he always did.

Louis grabbed a bottle of aerosol hairspray from his nightstand and began to go to work on his cinnamon colored fringe. He combed it upwards, spraying it still in a quiff style, and then spraying it two more times for good measure. The scruff on his chin, thankfully, looked more stylish than unkempt, and it complemented the sultry look of the ensemble quite nicely.

Louis did a look-over of himself in the mirror, raising his eyebrows at how majestic he really looked.

Stuffing his phone in the pocket of his blazer, Louis dashed out of his room and into the now lamp-lit light of the living room where Zayn was humming along to a track by the Weeknd while stirring a pot of macaroni and cheese.

“Damn,” Zayn gaped, looking up and down at Louis’s outfit and smirking in response. “You cleaned up nicely.”

Louis chuckled, spinning around theatrically and pointing a pair of finger guns in Zayn’s direction. “Thanks, mate,” he said with his lips curled in a warm smile, the side of his face illuminated with the warm glow of the lamps. “I’m off, then.”

Zayn waved up two fingers of acknowledgment before turning back to his cooking and immersing himself in the warm steam boiling up from his pot, his low voice now singing the lyrics of the song playing in the background. Zayn was the personification of the New York city-liver aesthetic that so many teenage girls sought after, and Louis wasn’t sure if he did it on purpose or not.

Louis turned on his shiny heels, grabbed the key to his flat, and ushered himself out the door.

* * *

The performance ran just like all the others before - flawlessly, smoothly, and effortlessly fantastic.

Harry Styles once again did not fail to give the audience the show of a lifetime. His wild green eyes were alight with the flames of the stage lights and the adrenaline of the performance, his passion and intensity alive through his intrepid voice echoing throughout the auditorium. 

Louis played his violin with impeccable beauty. He could actually hear himself apart from all the other instruments that would usually mold together like a zipper. This particular night, however, Louis felt as if he were the only one bringing life to the wooden instrument that was pressed underneath his chin, losing himself in the notes that dripped from his bow like a steady flow of molasses. He swayed, seemingly ushering the notes further and driving them into the air to combust into a firework of glorious music.

At the end of the night, Louis felt pride welling in his throat as the audience stood to their feet, creating their deafening applause as the actors took their bows and Harry made his routine goodnight-speech.

Louis packed up his instrument, the whirr of the crowd still ringing in his ears long after the applause had died down.

“Excellent work tonight, lads. Really.”

Louis’s ears instantly perked at the alluring voice that seemed to pour over his head from on top of the stage. He knew - he fucking knew - who owned the voice, but he had never heard it in such proximity before. 

Louis turned his head, casting his rounded glance upwards at Harry leaning over the side of the stage. Harry almost couldn’t be taken seriously. He was dressed in the finale attire, complete with thigh-high red boots and baby blue boxer shorts underneath a black blazer, his tie limply falling down into the empty space between Harry’s smiling face and Louis’s agape mouth.

But, even so, the words came out of Harry’s mouth in such an elegant fashion, as if they had been dipped in honey beforehand. Such a contrast in comparison to the words of Charlie Price, who spoke with staccatoed exclamations and hasty conclusions. Louis had almost forgotten that Harry Styles and Charlie Price were two different people.

“Thanks,” Louis had managed to murmur, his eyes brightening as he melted into Harry’s dimpled smile. “You too.”

Harry beamed, but Louis wasn’t sure if that was a genuine reaction or if that was just how he was with everyone who fed him a compliment about his exemplary showmanship. Nevertheless, it was enough to make Louis grin in return.

“Ah, thank you!” Harry replied rather theatrically, clutching his heart with his hand. His wet eyes left Louis’s and scanned the rest of the orchestra. “I mean it! Great work, great work!”

And just like that, Harry Styles was gone past the horizon of the stage and Louis was left alone with his violin and his endless copies of sheet music sprawled before him. Stiffening, he grabbed his belongings and began to make his way towards the door to go fucking home and away from the endless limelight and mingled voices.

Just as he was about to put one shiny-shoe’d foot in front of the other, Louis felt a firm grip on his shoulder.

“Drinks. Me. You. Bring Zayn too if you want.” Niall rumbled, his cheeks rosied and his eyes hungry for excitement to prance his way. 

Louis was tired - exhausted even - but the sound of dousing away his worries and frustrations with a countless supply of alcoholic beverages sounded rather tempting. His recent parties have involved champagne flasks, distant piano music, and a lot of fake conversations with wealthy businessmen he cared nothing about. It had been too long since he went and let the bass-heavy music pound into his head at a nearby club.

Louis let his lips turn into an electrified smile. “Fuck yeah,” he responded, meeting Niall with a high-five. “Gotta run back to the flat though to drop off my shit and pick up Zayn. Where to tonight?”

“Marquee,” Niall answered, one of his eyebrows raising in a suggestive connotation. 

Oh, so Niall’s really feeling good tonight.

“Got it,” Louis stated, dipping his head in acknowledgement. “Meet me there.”

And the two parted ways, both equally excited to get their lips around shot glasses and their hands raised high in the air.

* * *

“The Marquee? _Hell_ yes.”

Louis snickered at Zayn’s enthusiastic comment as he slid off his blazer and dropped it on the living room sofa. He had found Zayn sat on the barstool in typical candlelit fashion, his phone opened to social media on the bar countertop and a rerun of Friends playing softly on the TV. Why did everything about Zayn have to be so soft and sleek?

“I’m going to change real quick. Be ready to leave in 5,” Louis instructed, waiting for a nod of agreement from his roommate before dashing into his bedroom and stripping off the rest of his constricting outfit. The buzz of the successful show and the odd compliment from Harry was still replaying in his mind. Surely, Harry hadn’t been talking to just Louis, but to the whole orchestra. There was no way that Louis’s violin was heard over the rest of the instruments. Harry had just briefly met his gaze because he was the first chair violin - he was the one who answered him.

Louis was looking in to the whole thing too deeply anyways. Harry doubtfully meant the comment to be a wholehearted statement anyways. He probably was happy about the day-off like everyone else and decided to be nice to the poor orchestra members who bore aching fingers and tired lips from their chore of practically making the musical the reason it’s a - you know - musical.

Louis pulled a black shirt over his exposed chest and then buttoned up a red and black flannel over that. He kept the black pants because they were pretty comfortable and made his ass look damn good and he liked that. 

Harry Styles? Genuine compliment? No way. The limelight blinded him too much to see past his own greatness.

With a cold sigh, Louis exchanged his dress shoes for Adidas and barreled out the door, grabbing Zayn by the arm and once again meeting the brisk city streets with a soft smile alive on his lips.

Niall was waiting for Louis and Zayn outside of the Marquee and Louis could already hear the deafening music from inside its walls. Niall had changed too, remarkably fast, and was wearing a stylish mustard-colored button-up draped over a white t-shirt. Simple, yet still fashionable. 

With a collective agreement flashing from the eager eyes of the three boys, Niall led the way into the pulsating lights of the club. 

Louis wasted no time. He felt his bones pacify themselves as the multi-colored lights flashed around him, swallowing him into an atmosphere where nothing mattered and alcohol was encouraged. Before he even knew it, Louis was throwing his head back with shot after shot until the lights began to blur into a polychromatic spectacle of color.

Louis danced, a smile wide on his face as Niall made a fool out of himself next to him and Zayn coolly bobbed along to the beat. The smell of alcohol and sweat tinged Louis’s nostrils, but he didn’t care, he was tipsy and the music was cradling him into a persona he hadn’t met with in a long ass time. 

Hours passed, and Louis drowned out the time with more and more alcohol. Every shot was met with a returning one from Zayn, and ever glass of whiskey obtained with encouraged by a happy-go-lucky Niall. Louis met the glances of several women and men dancing around him, giving him provocative looks of desire with their dark, empty eyes to which he shooed away with another exclamation towards Niall or Zayn.

It was late, Louis was drunk, Niall was idiotic, and Zayn was really cool.

Louis could safely say that his life was a pretty damn good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a long one, hahah


	4. Chapter 4

Wednesday, and the rest of the week to be fair, came and went, and day bled into the night at a seemingly slower pace than usual.

Louis had spent the entire Wednesday following his spontaneous night out nursing his hangover by watching reruns of TV shows and eating potato chips out of the bag. Though having a night of drinking and dancing wasn’t the best mid-week activity, Louis couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy himself and had stumbled back into his apartment later that night with his head buzzing with drink and collarbones glistening in sweat before passing out onto the comfort of his bed. Zayn had left a few strongly-worded text messages on his phone as he left for work the next morning, upset that Louis had coaxed him out when he had work early the next day.

Thursday was a work day than ran just like all the others. Louis arrived at 7 AM, practiced, talked to Niall, debated about quitting, and felt the rush of the performance that lulled him to stay at the end of the night. He had watched Harry rather intently at any opportunity that arose, casting him sideways glances as the peculiar words of his appreciation from two nights before replayed in Louis’s brain over and over again. 

Louis greeted Friday morning with a hum of tiredness from his softened, sleepy lips. Most people were thankful for the calm awakening that came with a Friday morning, signaling the end of a long week and the beginning of a rest-filled weekend before starting it all over again. For Louis, Friday was another workday that ended with another work-night.

This Friday, however, was the night of the extravagant penthouse party that Zayn had invited Louis to at the beginning of the week. Louis had managed to store the invitation in the back of his mind for a majority of the week, and had even forgotten about it until the night before when Zayn had given him a gentle reminder not to overwork himself before the party. Louis doubted if he was capable enough to withstand a Friday night performance - which always brought a packed theatre - and a night of fizzing champagne-induced drunkenness.

Louis, however, didn’t feel the usual pangs of weariness clawing at the corners of his eyes as he awoke at dawn on Friday morning. He felt slightly more energized than usual, and didn’t really know if it was the excitement of the party pumping through his veins or if he was actually excited to go to work.

After a second of additional thought, Louis decided it must’ve been the excitement of the party.

Louis proceeded to roll out of the comfort of his blankets and get dressed for the workday that was to follow. He pulled a pewter gray colored crewneck sweatshirt out from the confines of his dresser drawer, putting it together with some skinny-legged black jeans with slits in the knees, and his signature white canvas slip-ons.

Louis always considered his style to be not much of a style at all. He liked to put together his all-black outfits for all the shows, and he felt snazzy when looking in the mirror and seeing a silhouetted, sultry version of himself looking back, but on every other day, Louis just wore what he thought matched what he felt. On days like today, when the warmth of the blankets still ebbed at the coolness of his body, he felt as if it was best to lose himself in the looseness of a sweatshirt. It was a comfort that he liked to have during the long, tiresome hours of rehearsal.

Just like the countless mornings before, Louis slipped out of his bedroom, careful not to make a sound to awake Zayn sleeping in the next room, and exited his apartment, grabbing his violin before closing the door behind him.

The New York morning was chillier than it had been during the last few weeks, and Louis was grateful that he had decided to take a thicker sweatshirt instead of a thin jacket. The sun was rising over the skyscrapers, casting a polychromatic glow on the windows of countless offices and boardrooms that lay on the other side of the glass. Cars and busses whirred by, the smells of their exhausts mingling with the warmer scents of fresh pretzels and bagels from the street vendors on every corner. The sky was overcast, hinting at rain to come, and the air was dense with the anticipation of precipitation. Louis couldn’t help but shiver at the chilly winds circling through him.

Louis kept his eyes towards the sidewalk, watching as different types of shoes passed by him. Some were in a hurry, most of those being pricy, shiny dress shoes. Some walked with a buoyant bounce in their gait, some of those belonging to bright-colored high-heels. Others were strikingly casual, bearing laced-up sneakers or dull leather boots. Louis found it interesting that every pair of shoes that moved by him was en-route to another place, wherever that may be.

Pushing open the doors of the theatre, Louis recognized familiar faces of crew members and backstage hands mingling in the foyer. Some of them had headsets at an idle position around their necks, holding clipboards and talking in a fast manner to the person in front of them. Even during rehearsal, each crew member always wore black. Louis found it hard to believe that they owned any other color of garment in their closet. 

Louis dipped his head when the director met his glance. The director probably had the slightest idea of who Louis was, but he still deserved the respect of acknowledgment, even if Louis did more in a single practice than he did in a work-week.

“There’s our star violin player!”

Louis immediately turned his head towards the familiar British voice that called out to him. There’s no way, there’s absolutely no way -

But it was him.

Louis could hardly believe his eyes as Harry walked towards him, his skin glowing with a youthful aura of sweetness around him. His curled locks sat atop his head as if sculpted there by angels themselves, and his pink lips were curled upwards in the most delighted of smiles, allowing his deep dimples to become prominent on his chiseled face.

Behind Harry was Liam, the prized co-star of the show, walking at a slower pace with dramatic hip swishes. Louis could hardly focus on Liam, however, because of the fact that Harry Styles was making his way towards him with a dazzling glimmer in his eyes.

Louis could only raise his eyebrows in response. “Me?” he murmured, subtly pointing to himself. This caused Harry to usher out a slight chuckle, his laugh like sweet music to Louis’s ears.

“Yes, you,” Harry responded, his low voice dragging on the words like they were covered in molasses. “You are the first violin player, no?”

Louis felt his heart pounding on the inside of his chest. Harry was too A-list to be talking to him, let alone making his way specifically over to strike up a conversation. “I am,” Louis replied, struggling not to trip over his own words as Harry’s twinkling green eyes met his own.

Harry’s face rose into another beautiful smile, causing Louis to feel his cheeks grow warmer and warmer underneath his skin. “I heard you’re attending the Bentley’s party tonight.” Harry added with a glint of suggestion in his voice.

Louis felt his jaw slightly fall. _Harry knows about the Bentley’s?_ “Y-Yes, I am,” Louis stammered, losing his breath for a heartbeat before being drawn back in with the glow of Harry’s grin. “Are you going to be there?”

“I’ve never missed a Bentley party,” the singer responded with a wink which almost caused Louis to lose his balance and topple over into a puddle of mixed emotion and infatuation. “I’ll see you there, then. Louis, right?”

“Yeah,” Louis exhaled, tightening the grip on his violin case that he had forgotten was in his hand. “And you’re Harry.”

Harry turned back to Liam, chuckling, before turning his head back around. “I am, yeah,” he breathed, the poised smile not leaving his lips. “I’m the star of _Kinky Boots_ , you know, the musical?”

Louis could hear the sarcasm dripping off of the singer’s words, but he was unsure if he was just cracking a joke or making fun of Louis’s comment. Either way, Louis was careful not to ruin the faint acquaintanceship that he had and shrugged it off with a laugh. “Oh really? I would have never guessed.”

Harry laughed, a denser laugh than the chuckle he had shared before, which caused Louis to lighten his expression and release the tension in his shoulders a little more. “Funny,” Harry commented. “I should get to warm-ups. Have fun with the violin.”

Before Louis could say a word in return, Harry turned, and Louis watched his maroon satin shirt disappear behind a door with Liam in tow. Louis could still smell the distinct scent of his cologne still lingering in the air moments after, causing his smile to fall into the neutral shape of a line.

Louis began to drag his feet towards the auditorium, the murmuring sounds of the conversations nearby drowned out by the slow, sluggish rhythm of Harry’s words echoing through his brain. With every blink he could still envision the sight of the singer’s plush, pink lips forming around the words leaving his mouth and turning upwards into a pristine smile.

_How did he know I was going to the Bentley’s?_

Unanswered questions seemed to float in the air around Louis’s head - unanswered questions that he may never get closure for. He knew that it was best to shove everything aside, sit down in the seat among the musicians, and play sweet music until the day was done and he could lose himself in an endless supply of sparkling champagne.

The problem was that Louis could not manage to get the sound of Harry’s rolling voice out of his head or forget the sight of his porcelain skin and glowing green eyes standing before him. The distraction was so overbearing that Louis found himself missing entrances and misplacing his fingers, collecting a series of darkened stares from Dr. Nick.

It wasn’t that Louis was romantically attracted to Harry Styles, it was more like he was infatuated with the idea of Harry Styles. The man seemed effortlessly perfect, with his brown curls always beautifully placed at the top of his head, his sharp jawline contrasting a shadow against the bright lights of the stage, and his olive colored eyes twinkling with a light of flirtatious radiance. He captivated the attention of everyone fortunate enough to share a room with him, wooing them with his cool-toned voice, speaking words that were carefully dipped in a sweet vat of honey before leaving his plush lips. Harry could charm anyone he wanted to with just the raise of his eyebrows, and Louis could not get over the fact that Harry was a real person.

All Louis knew about Harry was his outward appearance and his talent when it came to belting out long notes. Louis desperately wanted to know the story behind the man with the angelic voice and handsome appearance. He wanted to know what made him genuinely laugh, what made him cry, but most importantly, what made him take up the lead role of a Broadway singer and leave everything behind to follow the rigorous schedule of practices and performances?

It was almost as if Louis was asking himself the same question.

“Louis! I’d appreciate if you’d pull yourself out of whatever rut you’re in and pay attention to the damn sheet music!”

The stern voice of Dr. Nick was enough for Louis to snap out of his daydream and vaporize all visualizations of Harry inside his head. He had almost forgotten that he was in the theatre as he glanced around, meeting the eyes of all his colleagues and eventually meeting the darkened glare of Dr. Nick. Dipping his head, Louis brought the bow to his chin and gave an awkward smile. “Sorry,” he said with an apologetic raise of the eyebrows. “Off day today.”

“Well you better change that around before you lose your first chair seat,” Dr. Nick spat in return, his response hotter than Louis had anticipated. Louis suddenly felt his neck burn from all the watchful gazes that were stuck to him, and wished so desperately to disappear.

With an overwhelming amount of pressure, Louis managed to forget about the essence of Harry Styles up until the mass rehearsal that followed after the breakfast break.

Harry entered the auditorium with the cast chattering behind him, all seeming to back away with cautious hesitation not to interfere with his radiant aura. Harry was wearing a maroon satin shirt with the black embroidered word Styles on the right side of the chest. His black slacks appeared to be high-waisted, and the shiny moccasins on his feet had a multicolored rainbow across the front. Louis often wondered how the man could wear anything in the world and still look fucking amazing in it.

Louis could almost feel Harry meet his watchful glance, but he most likely had imagined it. Harry didn’t seem to pay him any attention as he walked towards the stage and began to bask in the bright lights of the auditorium. With a faint pang of disappointment, Louis brought the violin to his knee and awaited the direction of Dr. Nick, careful not to get himself into any more trouble than he had already found himself in.

Rehearsal ran without a hitch, and Louis reluctantly told Niall that he wanted to head straight back to his flat instead of grabbing a bite of lunch. Niall hadn’t objected, much to Louis’s relief, and had informed him that he was just going to collapse on the couch until the performance at 8 PM. The two parted ways, and Louis pushed through the thick air of New York City towards his apartment, headphones in his ears and his gaze low to the ground.

Louis was somewhat relieved of the stillness of his apartment when he arrived, instilled with the calmness that he was alone in the silent, sunlit area of his living space. Having a flatmate meant that Louis often had to be mindful of how loud he was being or how cluttered he was leaving his surroundings, and for the brief period of time where he would reside in the flat while Zayn worked, he felt as if an amount of pressure had been lifted from his shoulders.

Louis loved Zayn, and he had been good friends with the man for years before deciding to move with him to New York after graduation. He had no real reason to feel uncomfortable around Zayn. They had shared many late-night thoughts, some aided with the addition of weed or alcohol in their systems, and had confided in each other things that they may never share with anyone else. Zayn was easily Louis’s best friend, but at times, Louis hated having to share a space with Zayn.

Zayn was constantly changing. He would come home with bags of new high-end clothing every weekend, change his go-to style every other day, have a new favorite wine every month, and even change his Netflix habits with the season. Though Louis knew and trusted Zayn, he highly disliked how inconsistent Zayn had become ever since the move to New York. It was as if the hustle and constant movement of the city fogged the mind of what used to be the Englishman Zayn Malik, and replaced it with a new silhouette of a metrosexual people-pleaser who was constantly on the hunt for another source of happiness.

The man that Louis would come home to would be the Zayn he had befriended all those years ago in England - curled on the sofa in flannel plaid pants, ruffled jet-black hair, and a warm smile that welcomed him home. The 10 PM, sleepy, beer-buzzed Zayn was the Zayn that Louis loved to be around, telling somewhat exciting stories of work or silly gossip overheard from the wealthier businessmen of the city.

Nonetheless, the issues Zayn may-or-may-not be experiencing were none of Louis’s concern unless he decided to confide in him about them, and Louis decided it was best to get over the fact that he would have a constantly-conforming roommate until further notice.

Louis settled down into the couch with a bowl of raspberries in the lap of his black, knee-slit jeans. He flicked the television on to play the white-noise of a cooking show, mainly doing so just to have something playing in the background as he ate his snack and scrolled down the social media apps on his phone.

No matter how many tweets Louis read or Snapchat stories he tapped through, he couldn’t get the thoughts of the upcoming penthouse party out of his mind.

Louis hadn’t attended a penthouse party with Zayn in a few months due to the last outing resulting in vomit all over his pristine black blazer and button-up. He knew that he would mindlessly chatter with the familiar faces of Zayn’s coworkers, all dressed in their millennial-style fashion and rimless rectangular glasses. He would probably hear uninteresting stories of fixing code and creating algorithms for what seemed like hours on end before losing track of time in a bottle of champagne. However, tonight’s party brought with it an unforeseen event that Louis was unsure of how to go about reacting towards it.

Harry Styles.

Louis distinctly remembered Harry mentioning that he had never missed a Bentley party, which made Louis wonder why he had never seen Harry before at the last party he had attended in the Bentley’s hospitality. Though it was very plausible that the sheer amount of well-dressed individuals distracted Louis from being able to pinpoint Harry’s voluminous curls, still he thought he might’ve noticed a strikingly familiar face in the crowd. The sheer knowledge that Harry held about Louis attending was enough to make him ponder the personal life that Harry lived.

Louis had never talked with Harry outside of work, and the few conversations he held with the star were nothing short of trivial small talk. It was almost as if Harry was always in ‘performance-mode’ in the theatre, even when it came to holding conversations with acquaintances. His eyes always held a twinkling glamour in their green irises, combining with the pearly fluorescence of his smile to put forth a showy spectacle of enticing conversation. The boy was a show, and Louis was curious to know how he acted when put in a setting that was the complete opposite of the theatre’s organized chaos.

Placing the now-empty bowl on the end table, Louis laid down on the soft cushions of the couch and rested his eyes on the TV displaying a man tenderizing a sirloin steak. He let his eyelids grow heavy, imagining the nonsense that would entail at the late night events that were due to take place and let himself fall into a restful nap before tonight’s showtime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is so short and bad but i restarted it like 5 times which is why it took so long lmao i just needed to end it


	5. Chapter 5

“We’re leaving in 10, Lou.”

Zayn wasted no time instructing Louis on the night’s itinerary as soon as he had walked through the door, exhausted and buzzing from a successful performance. There had been yet another standing ovation, shouting and clapping as the performers bowed on stage, the lights making their skin glow as their foreheads glistened with sweat. Louis had watched the exclamations of endearment from the shadows of the pit, his violin resting on his lap and his eyes wistfully watching the excitement pouring from the hearts of the audience.

Harry had given Louis a strange look before he pushed through the doors and into the crisp night air of the city. He must’ve gone out of his way to find Louis before he had left, and had given him a small tap on the shoulder, enough to make Louis whip his head around and bask in the post-showtime glory that was Harry Styles. “See you later,” he had said, waving a goodbye, and disappearing into the mix of individuals that loitered in the lobby.

Louis had been caught off-guard, but was too busy processing Harry’s messy brown curls and watching one peculiar curl fall in front of his forehead in a perfect ringlet to even hear the words coming from his mouth. He had suspected he had given Harry a nod of acknowledgment, but he couldn’t even remember at this point and was currently dealing with his stomach flopping in his body at the memory that Harry would be attending the party later that night.

Meeting Zayn’s caramel glance, Louis swallowed, pushing away the memories of a sweaty Harry with eyes bright from the thrill of performance out of his brain. “Alright,” he replied, curling the corners of his mouth into a thin smile as Zayn moved out of his way and back into his bedroom probably to change his outfit for the third time that hour. Louis followed close behind, but going towards his own room and shutting the door behind him to be swallowed by the silent privacy of his bedroom.

Louis switched the lamp on his bedside table on, allowing for it to cast an amber light through the darkness of the space. He decided to change his top and blazer in order to not show up with the same outfit he had performed in. Harry would notice. Harry is the last person Louis would expect to wear an outfit twice to two separate outings, and Louis was determined to impress the star as much as he could by first showing up in a unique arrangement of clothes. 

Louis moved over to his closet and pulled out an ivory button-up followed by a maroon and ivory floral, embroidered blazer. Louis wasn’t really the type to wear patterns, but he had picked up the blazer at a shop after staring at it for several minutes. He had never worn it before but was always astounded by the beauty and intricate stitchwork of the flowers sewn into the fabric. Louis figured that tonight was the best situation he could’ve hoped for to put it on and look like a million dollars to show up to the party.

And Louis did look pretty good in the outfit.

Louis stared at himself for a few moments in his mirror, turning to the side to look at the figure of his back and waist in the tight-fitting blazer ensemble. He looked like he knew the elite group of wealthy businessmen in New York City that Zayn associated himself with, and for once, he was going to show up to the penthouse party looking like he was personally invited and not someone’s plus one. Louis was incredibly proud of himself for throwing together the outfit.

“Alright Louis, the uber is outside, let’s go!”

The abrupt call of Zayn from outside his bedroom door caused Louis to jump slightly. He slipped back into the dress shoes he had left beside his bed, sprayed a few pumps of cologne on his collarbone, doused his hair in hairspray, and gave himself one last glance in the mirror before hurrying out the door.

Zayn was dressed to the nines, like always.

The black-haired boy was wearing a golden suit jacket with black paisley patterns sewn into its fabric. It was buttoned almost halfway, allowing for his black button-up underneath to show through and match perfectly with the pattern that floated across his blazer. His black slacks were pressed and ironed, no wrinkle in sight and his shiny black dress shoes caught the light of the nearby living room lamp glowing in the background. His hair was sprayed up into a quiff with one stylish lock falling across his forehead, nearly touching the clear-rimmed glasses he was wearing on his face. Zayn looked as if he was too cool to even know Louis’s name.

“Wow,” Zayn breathed with a smirk, his eyes glancing down to Louis’s floral blazer. “You look great.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “You look like you own a mansion and about five vacation homes.”

Zayn chuckled at Louis’s sarcastic remark, moving a hand through his slick black hair. “Let’s get going.”

Louis followed Zayn out of their spacious apartment and down to the night-swallowed city outside. Even though the sun had been set for hours, the busy sounds of New York still whirred around Louis’s ears and the bright lights of the skyscrapers reflected white sparkles in his eyes. Zayn led him to the curb outside of their complex where a sleek black Audi was waiting for them.

Climbing into the back of the Uber, Zayn gave the directions to the destination, which Louis had been told was on the other side of Manhattan. It wouldn’t have been that bad of a walk, but Zayn always liked to arrive via car. He mentioned something about how the aesthetic factor was better that way.

Louis stared out the backseat car window at the multi-colored lights flashing before his eyes. He could almost hear the beeps of taxi cabs and the deep hums of buses from inside the car. Inside his mind, images of the day replayed before his eyes. He thought about the sound of his music from that night and how it was better than the day before’s and how Dr. Nick had given him a reassuring glance after the show had concluded.

Friday seemed to last forever.

Zayn had been keeping a minimalistic conversation with the Uber driver when the car pulled up to the curb of the sleek looking building that Louis assumed held the party he would be attending. There was a group of well-dressed younger individuals waiting outside, including tall women in tall heels wearing fur coats draped over their shoulders and smoke puffing from their red-stained lips. The men they were with were laughing, snake-like eyes glued to their figures as their mouths spoke icy words that seemed to fall on deafened ears.

Gulping, Louis followed Zayn out of the Uber. The girls’ attentions were immediately transfixed to his and Zayn’s arrival, their smoky-colored eyes lining up and down the patterns of their suits as their lips made gentle curls upward in sly grins. Louis looked away with a hard eye roll, trying not to suffocate in the overwhelming scent of cigarette smoke wafting from their collarbones.

“This way,” Zayn instructed, flicking his head towards the gold-rimmed doors of the complex. Louis followed close behind, uncomfortably aware of the intense stares burning into the back of his neck by both the girls and men waiting outside. He could feel his palms sweating with anticipation, feeling an intense need to be in the heat of the party with sound pulsating around his ears and drink fizzing in his stomach. The feeling of anonymity in a party felt a lot safer than the cold air of the city streets with the cigarette smokers and poor blokes who had to be thrown out.

The elevator to the top floor was shimmering with black marble. It smelled of flowery perfume, and Louis was delighted to see a doorman inside offering twinkling glasses of champagne from a gold platter in his gloved hands. Louis figured it must’ve been record time for him to already have alcohol in his possession and wasted no time downing half of the glass to calm his nerves as the elevator smoothly made its way to the top of the skyscraper.

Zayn stuffed a dollar bill into the pocket of the doorman as the elevator dinged, it’s doors swinging open into a brightly lit white-marble foyer. Louis was caught off-guard from such a stark color change from the elevator to the entrance of the penthouse but was transfixed by the intricate details of flower vases and paintings decorating the area outside of the double doors which led into the party. Booming music could already be felt through the floor and finely dressed men and women were standing outside, quietly sipping at glasses of champagne and politely chattering amongst one another. Louis understood the need for quietness after being in a constant tornado of noise for what seemed like days at a time.

Zayn gave Louis a sideways smirk before pulling open the doors of the penthouse, releasing the flashing lights and booming music and enveloping Louis into a realm of new sights, smells, and desires. The environment that penthouse parties created was something that Louis lost himself in. The music, drugs, alcohol, and beautiful vista of the cityscape out of the windows immersed Louis into a mindset of freedom and prosperity without having a care in the world of what might bring him down.

Immediately, Louis darted his eyes across the room and searched for the familiar sight of Harry Styles. He hadn’t asked the singer on what time he had planned on arriving, but also didn’t want to make it obvious that he was searching for him for fear of questioning.

“Zayn,” Louis stated, strengthening his voice to sound it over the sound of the music.

Zayn’s glass was already being refilled with champagne and his back was being patted by coworkers when he met Louis’s glance. “Yeah?”

“Does Harry Styles attend these parties?”

Zayn snickered, taking a deep sip of his drink. “Harry is practically at every party,” the man answered, giving Louis a suave half-smile. “He’s friends with like every rich person in the city.”

_Every party?_

“Oh,” Louis gaped, his head turning over his shoulder and spotting a table that held rows of liquor bottles. “I’m gonna grab something stronger.”

Zayn didn’t seem to hear him as Louis snaked away, his space immediately being replaced by one of the many friends that Zayn knew.

With a deep breath, Louis poured himself a shot of tequila. Three shots, to be exact. Hard liquor wasn’t a favorite, but Louis would much rather consume raw amounts of the substance and get drunk than have to suffer through a few bottles of beer which tasted outright disgusting. Tequila was exceptionally strong, and Louis figured that he could fight back the taste to gain the feeling of a pleasant buzz.

Louis planned to stop at three and wait a while before consuming anything else, but his plan was ruined by a skinny party-boy creeping around to the other side of the table and flashing Louis a desirable grin as he poured him a shot of Fireball. His hair was messy and frayed at all angles, and there was a noticeable amount of glitter sticking to the sweat on his collarbones. His dark eyes were glazed, and Louis knew that there wasn’t just alcohol lurking in his system. He was devilishly handsome, and Louis couldn’t deny that as he grabbed the shot glass from his fingers and swallowed it down fast.

“Another?” the boy cooed, adjusting the wrinkled black blazer that tightly clung to his body. His eyes swirled with attraction, and Louis could feel the heat rising in his cheeks as he met his sultry glance. It had been months since Louis had been looked at with such longingness. 

Louis felt the tequila begin to bubble in his brain as the corners of his eyes began to blur. “Why not,” he agreed, not taking time to fully understand what he had gotten himself into. He watched with pleasure as the boy smirked to himself and poured more of the fiery liquid into his shot glass. He had no knowledge of where Zayn went, what time it was, or what song was pounding in his ears, but the buzz of the alcohol surging through his system was enough to take the shot glass and down yet another drink of the liquor.

Without warning, the boy moved from the other side of the table, pushing himself closer to Louis until their expensive blazers brushed against one another. Louis squinted, staring into the dark pools that engulfed the boy’s irises and feeling an objection rise in his throat as a sweaty hand grabbed his own.

“There’s a bedroom in the back,” the boy murmured, putting his sticky lips near the base of Louis’s ear. The alcohol fuzzing his brain caused Louis to feel his head grow lighter than it had been before he had delved into the liquor, but he felt as if he couldn’t back his head away far enough to be free of the hot breath pouring over him from the boy who was now moving his lips towards his jawline. 

Louis pressed his hands on the boy’s torso, pushing him away slightly and moving his own blurred vision up to see the outline of the boy’s hollowed face. “I’m okay,” Louis stated, squinting against the vibrant lights flashing in the background. “No thanks.”

“C’mon,” the boy repeated, pushing back into Louis’s lithe figure, his clothes reeking of a combination of marijuana and cigarette smoke. “Just give me a little, yeah?”

Louis felt anger burning in his veins. He felt as if he couldn’t breathe through the thickness of the air surrounding the atmosphere around his face. The hotness of the boy’s breath combined with the foul scents that wafted from his clothing made Louis want to gag. He flashed his eyes back and forth, desperately searching for a way out, but he knew no one really could notice what was happening. Everyone was too consumed in their own practices of drugs, alcohol, and trying to get sex of their own to even bother about Louis and the sweaty boy that was forcing himself onto him.

“I do believe he said no.”

Louis felt his head turn as fast as his current state allowed him to towards the source of the deep yet clear voice that was speaking beside him. Sure enough, his ears hadn’t deceived him. It was Harry Styles.

Harry’s green eyes were narrowed and darkened with bitter distaste, his eyebrows furrowed and giving an expression that Louis himself feared to receive. He was wearing a dark purple, satin suit jacket with a darker floral pattern glinting through in the dim lighting that surrounded him. His sharp jawline was outlined in the neon blue lights, but Louis could still recognize his porcelain face glowing like the shining angel he always appeared to resemble.

Louis’s mouth was agape.

The boy’s face fell as his eyes met Harry’s. “Oh,” he managed to exhale, immediately pushing himself off of Louis. “Sorry,” was all he said before disappearing into the crowd, his odor still lingering in the air around Louis’s dizzied head.

Louis felt total disbelief as Harry grabbed his wrists. He softly tilted his head upwards, feeling fire pulsating through veins with every heartbeat as he met Harry’s rounded and concerned gaze. “Are you alright?” Harry rumbled, his voice soft but still managing to break through the constant bass of the music. “Did he hurt you?”

Louis could hardly believe the sight that stood before his eyes. It was bad enough that he wasn’t entirely sober to experience the moment in all of its shining glory. “No,” Louis mumbled, shrinking against the burning gaze that Harry held with him. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I couldn’t handle it myself.”

“You’re alright,” Harry replied, his hands still tightly wrapped around Louis’s wrists. “Saw him come over and look at you weird. Didn’t want you getting into anything you didn’t want.”

Louis felt as if his chest was about to burst. Harry watched him. Harry knew where he was and could sense something wasn’t right. Even so, anyone probably could’ve seen that something wasn’t right if they weren’t too busy filling themselves with drinks and losing their consciousness in a bong. 

Harry’s voice was different than how it was during work. It was softer, calmer, easier to listen to and absorb. It was as if Louis was speaking to an entirely different Harry, one with concerned eyes and honey-dipped words that flowed into Louis’s ears like a sweet breeze. The Harry that was holding his wrists felt like a Harry he had known for a long time, a Harry he had shared secrets with. He most definitely did not resemble a Harry that was a mere co-worker.

“Thank you,” Louis replied graciously, a smile broadening on his lips. “My fault for choosing to drink so early.”

“Nonsense,” Harry chuckled through a warm smile. “That’s what parties are for. Share a bottle of champagne with me?”

Louis wasn’t completely drunk yet but could definitely feel the lightheadedness stirring around his brain. This was the signal that it was time to drink more and blur the lines between reality and distortion even more. Drinking champagne with Harry Styles wasn’t an opportunity that would present itself everyday either.

“Yeah,” Louis shrugged, suddenly hyperly aware of his surroundings and the extreme sounds and sights flashing before him. “Of course.”

Blinded by his smile, Louis followed Harry over to the marble countertops that held a countless number of assorted, fancier alcoholic beverages. Dozens of champagnes, wines, and European liquors lined the surface, glinting with refractions of the lights bouncing over their frosted glass surface. Harry reached for a rose gold colored bottle with a golden logo and cap, proceeding to delicately open it and pour Louis a bubbling glass of pink liquid.

Louis brought the glass to his lips, spooked by the fizz misting the skin above his top lip. His eyes routinely drifted back over to the elegant shape of Harry - a dark shape contrasted against the bright vibrancy of the penthouse pulsing behind him. Harry seemed unphased by the stupidity rolling around him, and his brown curls still remained perfectly poised on top of his head. The purple seems of his suit were untouched, and no wrinkles were in sight. It looked as if Harry had walked straight out of a magazine instead of out of a crowd of drunken, drugged-up New Yorkers. Louis was in awe.

“So, what brings you to a party such as this?” Harry murmured, his pink lips slightly wet with droplets of champagne. Darkness was pooled in his eyes, but Louis could see make out their sage-green hue even through all the distractions pulling his attention away. Louis didn’t understand why Harry was asking him this question. Harry Styles - Broadway star, fashion icon - was asking Louis Tomlinson - amateur violinist - why he had appeared to a penthouse party on a Friday night.

Louis felt his head throb for a heartbeat before answering. “Nothing better to do,” he replied with a shrug, feeling heat begin to build under the layers of his fancy clothing. “Zayn Malik, my roommate, comes to these things all the time. Thought I would join him.”

“Ah, Zayn is your flatmate?” Harry rumbled with raised eyebrows, bringing the crystal-clear glass up to his lips again. “Zayn is a great lad. I haven’t seen you at these parties before, Louis.”

“I don’t usually go,” Louis stammered, almost breaking a sweat from the sheer anxiety pumping through his system due to the conversation with a man much more prestigious and beautiful than he. “You know, tired from work and all that.”

Harry pursed his lips - his pink, poised, beautiful lips - forward into a side grin. His eyes were glinting with a hidden desire for something Louis could not recognize. He seemed much more mysterious than he already had designated himself to be, and Louis did not know how to react around him. He could feel his body shaking slightly and did not know if it was because of Harry or the alcohol beginning to take control over his nerves.

“Right,” Harry stated, his gaze unblinking as it seemed to study Louis up and down. “Work is a lot, isn’t it? Shit like this is a good way to relieve the stress.”

Louis chuckled a bit, feeling a hint of nervousness fleeing from his system as he let out his anxiety in the form of laughter. “Crazy how we have to do it almost every day.”  
“It’s rewarding,” Harry commented, letting his solemn glance move over to where a group of guys were moving past in a hustle of grunts and obnoxious howls. “I have to get back to making my rounds. Don’t overdo yourself, Louis.”

Louis felt the breath leave his body as Harry gave him a slight smirk, finishing his glass of champagne and placing it lightly on the counter behind him. Louis didn’t have time to respond before Harry pushed himself away, the scent of his cologne hanging strongly in the air as he disappeared into the crowd of people dancing and swaying to the music booming in the air.

Harry was peculiar. The spectacle of a man showed up to such a sleazy, loud penthouse party only to sip expensive champagne in a perm-pressed outfit worth more than Louis’s entire closet with darkened eyes and a suave smirk. He held his shoulders high when he walked, even amidst the crowd of sweaty individuals writhing around him, and was still just as beautiful in the shadows of night as he was beaming underneath the limelight.

Louis reached for the handle of whiskey that had been tempting him from it’s nearby spot on the countertop. With a heavy sigh, he poured a shot as the feelings of attraction and infatuation swelled in his heart, his eyes darting around the party to try and find just another glimpse of the curly-haired singer in the crowd.

With the sight of his sugar-pink smirk still fresh in his mind, Louis closed his eyes and swung the shot into his system, grimacing as the fiery liquor seeped into his whirring mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its been a long time hahah sorry


	6. Chapter 6

The murmur of New York City seemed to be alarmingly deafening as Louis ran quickly down the muddy sidewalks, the Saturday morning sun burning into the back of his neck. The time was 11:15 AM, and Louis was more than fashionably late, which was something that Dr. Nick could not stand. He called the musicians ‘unprofessional’ and ‘haughty’ whenever they arrived to practice late, and Louis would typically set twelve alarms on every workday to prevent it from happening to him.

On this day in particular, however, Louis had failed to wake up in time.

Louis had spent the night before losing himself in handles of liquor, his head bobbing along to the thrusting beats of EDM music blaring in his ears as he mingled himself within the crowd of sweaty, drugged-up members of the elite class. He had met up with Zayn again about an hour into arriving as he shoved a sloppily rolled blunt into his face with glazed eyes and a droopy smile.

Louis had watched the indigo sky bleed with lilac as the hours dragged into the early morning, his mind whirring with drunkenness and a weed-induced stupor. At some point, Zayn had dragged him out the door of the penthouse, his face flushed and sweaty as the Uber waited outside to bring the boys home to their much calmer residence. Louis had ended up passing out on the couch, unable to drag his legs far enough to make it into his bed.

It wasn’t until the harsh rays of morning sunlight filtering through his eyelids that Louis had realized he had forgotten to set his Saturday, late-call-time alarms. He had woken up in a frenzy, his eyes quickly darting to blurrily recognize the sleeping shape of Zayn slumped in the chair nearby. With his head pounding from the hangover curdling his brain, Louis had almost tripped over himself to change out of the now tight-fitting clothes from the night before. He had no time to shower, and instead threw a splash of water over his sunken cheeks to look the slightest bit refreshed before grabbing his violin and swinging out the door of his flat.

The walk from his apartment to the theatre had never felt longer.

Louis had left his headphones at home in the hurried rush out the door and was now forced to listen to the blaring noises that New York City had to offer in the morning. He winced at every car horn screeching past his ears and stiffened at every shout that was made by commuters walking past him. It was as if Louis had found himself in an entirely different part of the city, a part where he felt uncomfortable and out-of-place in the city he called home.

Arriving at the theatre, Louis wasted no time in pushing the sets of doors open and stepping into the dimly lit, open area of the auditorium. Heads quickly turned over shoulders, beady eyes narrowing and focused as he made his way down the aisle towards the pit where the orchestra was resting with their instruments on their knees. Louis was aware of the fiery glare that was planted on him by Dr. Nick, but refused to give any sort of response until break to alleviate the eminent embarrassment that would follow.

Louis shakily took his instrument out from his case, the words of the director speaking to the actors becoming white noise through his ears. He didn’t take the time to search for Harry in the sea of golden lights shining up on stage, mostly due to the fact that he wanted his gaze to remain as low as possible for fear of more ridicule by his conductor. He wasn’t too late, but still late enough to face a potential consequence.

After taking the time to rosin his bow, Louis began to subtly raise his eyes to look about the spacious auditorium. Dr. Nick’s glance had since moved away from him, but Louis could see a slight furrow in his brow that seeped with annoyance which made him shudder slightly. Louis could feel Niall’s icy stare burning a hole in his cheek and decided to turn his head to acknowledge the boy before he combusted.

Niall gave an enthusiastic wave down the rows of chairs to which Louis responded with a quick rise of the eyebrows. The afternoon could not drag on any slower than it had been in the current moment.

At the gesture of Dr. Nick raising the baton, Louis brought his violin up to his chin, tightly gripping his bow as he prepared to play without any type of warm-up or tuning beforehand. He planned to play softer than normal for fear that his instrument would be so out of tune that the director himself would climb off of his chair just to smash his violin into pieces due to frustration.

With a deep breath, Louis followed the baton with his eyes and graciously embraced the strings of his instrument with his rosined bow, the sheet music appearing like a photo in his mind from having to play the same rhythms over and over again six days a week. His fingers grasped the bow in an angelic form, tiny veins and subtle bone visible through the graceful positioning of his hand, pulling the bow back and forth over the strings as soft whines of sound emitted from the clash. Louis’s heart seemed to stir in rhythm with the low sounds of the tubas from the back, driving itself forward and matching the speed of the percussive beats of the timpani and bass drum looming behind. For an instant, Louis dissolved into the music, his breaths coming in slow sighs and his body moving along with the notes coming to life in the open atmosphere of the theatre.

It was moments like these when Louis remembered why he had taken up such an ambitious job in the first place. There was something about the vulnerability of a practice session in the empty auditorium that would later be filled with spectators bearing glassy eyes and rosy smiles that made Louis feel the desire to play and to fill the open air with glorious music. The belting voices of the actors and actresses were drowned out by the angelic sounds emitting from the pit, but no matter how entranced by the rhythm Louis became, there was one voice he could never ignore.

The celestial voice of the lead role himself, Harry Styles.

Harry sang with such a crystal-clear tone that was enough to contrast against all the harmonics that joined with him from both other singers and the instruments themselves. Louis could feel every smile that he made while on stage through just the changes in his lips and could picture all of the picturesque scenes with Harry standing center-stage, reeling in the lights and the awe of the crowd as he stole the show each and every night.

As Louis played the violin with effortless elegance, he couldn’t help but listen to the crystalline voice of Harry striding across the stage, wistfully longing to be able to watch the show for himself without having to commit to reading music and playing harmonies.

Time seemed to move at light speed once Louis immersed himself into the tidal wave of Harry’s voice flooding over the stones of the orchestra. For once, Louis felt as if he and Harry were the only ones in the empty auditorium, Harry’s voice filling every crack in space that Louis’s violin skipped over. Their sounds twirled into one, creating a harmony more heavenly than angels themselves, and making Louis’s heart flutter inside of his chest.

Then, the music stopped, and Louis came crashing back down into the reality of the crowd of people in between him and the star shining on center stage. The stern glance of Dr. Nick slammed into the top of his head, and Louis couldn’t help but gingerly meet it with a widened look of apologetic remorse. The theatre seemed to close in on itself, becoming darker and tighter to a point where it was hard for Louis to breathe. The sounds that once flowed like a springtime river were now muddled, tripping over each other before fading out into the stale air that hung like a toxin above Louis’s head.

Louis couldn’t help but sigh.

* * *

With exhaustion weighing heavy in his chest, Louis dragged his feet out of the auditorium as the lights began to shut off one by one, signaling the definite end of the workday. The two Saturday night shows ran like clockwork, each ending with a standing ovation and countless whistles and yells of admiration. Louis had fought to keep his eyes open during the slower parts of the musical and could barely feel any weight in his feet as he sludged out of the front doors of the theatre and into the lively night outside.

Niall had said his goodbyes early, mumbling something about having a party to attend on the other side of Manhattan. He had been one of the first to leave for the night, scampering out of the auditorium and almost taking two music stands down in his wake. Louis was far too tired to even think about moving quickly.

The New York night was slightly cold, enough for Louis to instinctively stuff his hands into his coat pockets upon letting the chilled winds lap at his cheeks. Brake lights illuminated themselves in the wetness of his eyes, setting aflame a dark red color in their aquamarine pools. Louis fiddled through his coat pocket as he searched for his headphones to stuff into his ears and wash out the pains of the day he had endured, giving him a cloud of isolation to walk home upon.

“Louis.”

A voice as soft as silk quickly flooded over Louis’s ears before he was able to put his headphones in for the walk home. He instantly recognized the voice as belonging to Harry, for it was the same voice that rang out on stage and cooed delicately to him over the havoc of the party the night before. An unmistakable sound that was bursting with gracious and pompous energy, like the moon itself hanging in the sky above their heads. 

Harry spoke Louis’s name as a definitive statement, beckoning Louis towards him as if out of a dream that had been on replay in his mind ever since the last time he had spoken with him. Louis felt his eyes instinctively widen with surprise as his heart began to beat at a quickened pace. Harry was alive in his mind throughout the day, but on the particular occasions when Louis was able to hold Harry’s whole attention in the real world, Louis worked twice as hard to contain himself.

Louis turned, his eyes immediately meeting the sparkling glance of Harry Styles standing behind him. He looked entirely different from when he was standing on stage with the lights coating him in glamour wearing thigh-high, red-heeled boots. The Harry that was standing there was wearing a coat over his practice clothes, his forehead still slightly glistening with sweat but his eyes remaining round and vulnerable as they absorbed the moonlight shining above. If Louis hadn’t known Harry, he would’ve recognized a look of concern. 

“Hi, Harry,” Louis responded, feeling a weightlessness rising in the middle of his chest. He clutched the handle of violin tighter as he searched Harry’s rounded eyes for an expression he recognized.

Harry said nothing but let his lips slowly turn upwards into the signature side-smirk that always seemed to be resting on his face. Louis felt his chest rising and falling, desperately peering into Harry’s solemn green glance as questions began to swirl around in his head. Harry’s plush, pink lips were so beautifully outlined in the headlights of cars stopped in traffic nearby, and Louis couldn’t help but move his gaze downwards to stare and be immersed in their beauty.

“Good show tonight,” Harry murmured, his lips carefully forming around each word that left his mouth. Louis was almost too mesmerized to let the words resonate in his mind but miraculously was able to form a reply.

“It was,” Louis responded brightly, his eyes bright and a smile wide on his face. “Long day. Might have overdone it last night.”

Louis was relieved to hear a slight chuckle escape from Harry’s slightly agape mouth. Even though slight breezes seemed to be tugging at the ends of Louis’s fringe, Harry’s curls rarely moved and stayed beautifully bundled on the top of his head. Louis decided that he would ask what kind of hairspray Harry used at a later date.

“Came in a little late this morning, didn’t you?” Harry said with a smirk, his eyes wild with a kempt fire deep within the swirls of green inside of them. Louis knew that it was hard to mistake the late arrival of a crew member as they take their walk of shame down the aisle of the empty auditorium. The Broadway job was about performing and practicing the same things on every given day, so on the day when something new happened, it quickly grabbed everyone’s attention.

Louis felt his cheeks flush slightly as the memories of what felt like months ago began to resurface. “Yeah,” he murmured, slightly embarrassed. “Dr. Nick was not too happy with me for that one.”

“Hangover?” Harry questioned, his eyebrows still gently furrowed as his gaze burned into Louis’s.

Louis had no idea how much Harry had done on the night of the party, or if he had even gotten drunk at all. After Harry had disappeared through the crowd, Louis quickly became too overtaken by the drink concoctions and obnoxious music to see him again. He filled his system with mixed drink after mixed drink, hit after hit, and song after song until the sun rose again. Louis hadn’t partied that hard since college.

Louis shrugged his shoulders, averting his glance to avoid showing Harry just how nervous he actually had become. “A bit,” he answered, his voice barely above a whisper. He felt a heat rising in his palms that were now stuffed into his jacket pocket. “What about you?”

Harry’s green eyes, twinkling with moonlight, glanced upward to the starscape shining above them. “Didn’t drink that much,” he hummed, a soft, nighttime breeze slowly running its fingers through his voluminous curls. “I don’t like to get drunk at public affairs.”

The answer that the boy had given was _so_ typical of a Harry response. Louis noticed that the boy seemed to dance around questions, tossing out words that vaguely shaped a response but left listeners eager to pry for further details that seemed to sacred to be shared. Louis felt as if he were drowning in the scent of Harry’s cologne.

Raising his eyebrows, Louis nodded. “Understandable,” he stated with a gentle purse of his lips. “I don’t typically either, something just came over me last night.”

“I see,” Harry responded cynically, letting his gentle gaze overtake Louis. “I do enjoy attending these events, though. There’s going to be another next Friday night. Are you going?”

Louis felt a dryness in his mouth as the question left Harry’s lips to be left suspended in the air for a brief moment. He felt overwhelmed by all the elements surrounding him at once: Harry’s captivating green gaze, the chilled nighttime breezes, car horns blaring nearby, and the sweatiness occurring in his palms. Louis didn’t feel capable of answering.

“If Zayn is, I will,” Louis managed to reply, trying his hardest from letting his words blend together. 

“Well if Zayn isn’t going to this particular one you could always go with me.”

_You could always go with me._

Was Louis hearing this correctly?

Louis felt his breath leave his body as he processed Harry’s kind statement that had been specially shaped by his sugar-pink lips and doll-like smile. The Harry Styles that Louis had spent months watching strut around in thigh-high boots and sing with the voice of a star was asking him to attend a party as his friend. Louis had only really spoken to Harry a few times, was that enough to be considered a friend? Was he more of an acquaintance? Was Harry just trying to be nice to the pathetic violin player that made a fool of himself showing up to practice late?

“Louis?”

Harry spoke Louis’s name with a softness similar to honey, making Louis quickly jolt out of the endless questions forming a tornado in his brain. Harry was staring at him, eyebrows furrowed into a look of concern and green eyes wild with hidden emotion. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll get back to you,” he murmured, feeling his heart beating faster than ever before.

Harry smirked, shadows forming pools in his dimples. “Alright. Have a good night Louis.”

Louis smiled briefly as Harry turned, becoming a dark figure in the night as he walked the opposite direction down the avenue, curls bouncing and hands still stuffed into his coat pockets. Louis watched him until he was out of sight, his cologne still lingering in the air and causing Louis’s mind to keep the image of Harry alive on his eyelids.

“Fuck,” Louis spat, feeling an overwhelming sensation of frustration and annoyance rise in his chest. The heat in his palms was subsiding, and his heart was lowering back to its normal pace, but the intense feeling of infatuation and attraction was clawing at the walls of his stomach after Harry was long gone.

_Is this what love feels like?_

Louis couldn’t be in love with Harry. Louis didn’t even know Harry. He knew that his looks rivaled those of Greek gods, with perfect porcelain skin and brown curls that looked soft enough to sleep upon. He knew that his eyes were cast ablaze with any sort of light, whether it be sunlight, moonlight, or the glow of the stage lights during performances. He knew that Harry could sing with more confidence than Louis had seen before, boldly wearing high-heeled boots and smiling in front of a crowd that adored him. He knew that Harry had a taste for fashion, wearing silks and satins with his last name embroidered on the front. Louis knew that Harry was perfect, too perfect and that there must be more inside of him to discover before Louis could staple the label of ‘love’ onto his feelings.

But Louis knew that Harry meant more to him than he ever could’ve imagined. Somehow, the star of a boy managed to squeeze his way into Louis’s heart and capture every daydream that played in his mind during the day. Harry was the melody to his harmony, singing notes that intertwined with sounds emitting from the strings of his violin and transforming it into a beautiful song.

With a sigh escaping his lips, Louis stuffed his headphones into his ears and hesitantly made the walk back to his flat, desperately clinging to the scent of Harry’s cologne residing in the air around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooo lou's got a crush


	7. Chapter 7

Sundays were a lot calmer than the usual chaos that ensued during the rest of the week.

On Sundays, there was only one performance at noon, and the crew was called in at 10 AM for practice, rehearsal, and dress. By 2 PM, the workday was over, and the staff was sent home with droopy, tired eyes and sluggish gaits into freedom that waited outside the doors of the theatre.

Louis enjoyed Sundays as much as the other crew members, if not a little more. He'd wake up to the sunshine streaming in through the windows covering the side of his room, blankets folded limply over his body and light collecting on the tips of his eyelashes. Zayn would be awake, frying breakfast in the kitchen and singing along to whatever Spotify playlist he had related to upon waking up. The TV would be playing _Friends_ reruns, the volume turned subtly down just enough for cheerful voices to cover it’s soundwaves. Sundays seemed to move in slow motion, and Louis almost felt as if he could hear birds singing in his ears.

Or maybe that was just the voice of Harry Styles still resonating within him from the previous night.

Louis had been replaying the moments outside of the theatre, his body bathed in darkness as he stood in front of Harry who was peering down at him with a gentle green gaze as they talked about work and the upcoming party that Harry was planning to attend. Louis had barely been able to keep a conversation as his heart pounded in his chest and his palms sweat in the pockets of his jacket.

Upon arriving home and collapsing into the comfort of his bed, Louis had come to the realization that he might love Harry Styles.

Harry was a mystery. He radiated captivation and charm, with pink lips and green eyes creating a kaleidoscope of wonder that hung in the air about him. Louis felt as if Harry was too extravagant to even coexist within the same room as him, let alone hold a conversation that dove deeper than just work and parties. Louis knew that there were several layers underneath Harry the Broadway Star than could be discovered within just a few short talks, but Louis could not deny the fiery attraction that pulsed through his veins whenever he was lucky enough to be in Harry’s presence.

Louis made the ultimate decision to not tell anyone of his suppressed feelings. It wouldn’t turn out very well for anyone involved.

Louis dressed himself, teased his hair to be a bit higher than usual, and left behind a sleepy-eyed Zayn lounging on the sofa as he exited his apartment.

Upon arriving at the theatre, Louis immediately searched the congregation of musicians and actors congregating in the lobby for the familiar chiseled face of Harry Styles, but disappointingly, did not find him in the crowd. He did, however, find Niall meandering his way towards him with a rosy hue on his cheeks.

“Tommo! Happy Sunday!” Niall commented, the smile on his face becoming infectious enough to draw a grin on Louis’s lips. Niall’s overly-enthusiastic attitude sometimes made Louis smile, even though on other days it made him grimace. Sundays, however, seemed to cast a golden aura into the minds of the crew, allowing for smiles to be drawn out easier and for laughs to escape from pinkened lips more joyously.

Louis met Niall’s chipper blue gaze. “Good morning, Niall,” he responded, his words slower than usual but still teeming with a sweetness that made the exchange friendly. “Do anything last night?”

Niall shook his head, squinting his eyes a bit as his expression changed to a slightly duller frown. “Sadly, no,” he murmured, half-amused. “What about you? Anything fun?”

Louis pursed his lips. His Saturday night had consisted of a lot of self-deprecating moans as he rolled around on his bed, thinking of Harry and it felt when his heart raced and his palms were sweaty and his mouth stammered for words in the presence of the green-eyed, pink-lipped, curly-haired Broadway singer. He had fallen asleep with his mind racing, piecing together memories over the last months of Harry in the boots with Harry in the floral-print violet suit from the penthouse party. Two different Harries — two different feelings of intense passion.

“Nothing out of the usual,” Louis spoke, a rasp in his throat as his mind continued to wander. He hadn’t fussed over crushes since secondary school, and certainly didn’t have such feelings of confusion and restlessness over an attraction for someone else ever. It was all too much, and Louis felt as if he could vomit.

Niall nodded. “Well, it’s Sunday. Early wrap today. Should we get to the pit?”

“Yeah, let’s.”

Louis couldn’t explain the feeling that was swirling around in his stomach. The comfort of the relaxing Sunday afternoon that was soon to come felt like a warmth ebbing at his bones, but he couldn’t fully shake off the pricks of anxiety that had been eating away at him ever since he came to terms with his feelings for Harry Styles. Louis thought of himself as rather pathetic, really.

Louis lost Niall in the crowd of musicians as he found his way to his seat. The mood could be felt in the air, which brought the slightest tinge of a smile to Louis’s lips. The quiet chattering of the violas behind him softly pawed at his ears as his eyes wandered towards the aisle of the theatre where the cast was beginning to make their way down. He spotted Liam near the front, his face lit with an expression of excitement as his hands waved as he talked to the stage crew beside him. 

Then, near the back of the group, strode in Harry Styles. His curls were softly shaped on top his head, bouncing with each clean stride of his legs. His blouse was an ivory color, slightly sheer enough to give away his hidden chest tattoos, providing a sharp contrast between the paleness of his skin and blouse. He was smiling vibrantly, laughing at a joke that was told to him, dimples deep in his cheeks and joy glinting in his eyes. 

Louis quickly looked away as Harry walked onto the stage, redness burning on his cheeks. Suddenly, he was more aware of the short distance between the pit and center-stage. He could feel his fingers anxiously clenching into fists, swallowing hard as Dr. Nick moved from the corner of his eye on the podium. For once, the spacious theatre felt uncomfortably cramped and small.

“Good morning, all,” Dr. Nick greeted with a glistening smile, his brown eyes relaxed and voice warm. The orchestra was always relieved to be addressed with such cordial friendliness from their conductor in comparison to the abrupt distaste that was there to greet them on some unwelcome mornings.

“Let’s go from the top,” the director bellowed, trotting off of the stage as the lights proceeded to dim and the musicians straightened their backs. Louis, still uneasy with anticipation, tightly gripped his bow with blue eyes solidly watching for the queue from Dr. Nick to begin. 

The moments before the first musical note were always eerie. Voices and instruments seemed to hang suspended in the air, waiting for that first queue to explode into a fiery aurora of sound and artistry throughout the venue. No one dared to breathe until the spotlight flashed to life, beckoning with it pearly smiles and widened eyes from the actors dancing across the stage. It was the most nerve-wrecking part of the entire show and Louis never failed to endure a lightness in his stomach before the first downbeat sprang the show into life.

Louis’s eye caught Dr. Nick’s for a brief second before the baton waved abruptly before him, drawing movement from Louis’s hands as his bow danced across the strings, bellows of horns swelling in his chest and songs of flutes twinkling through his ears. Soon, voices filled the empty spaces in the music, and the musical was underway. 

Louis was ashamed to admit that he memorized every downbeat, pause, crescendo, and tempo change in the literature, but Dr. Nick always changed some part of his conducting for every performance, even if only slightly. Some long tones would be held longer than they had been the night before, or a caesura would be grander than it had been for the last week. Dr. Nick held this principle over the heads of his musicians so that their eyes would never wander and they would stay directly on tempo for the entirety of the show.

For Louis, he could never say that he grew tired of playing the same music day-in and day-out. Every night was different and evoked different feelings from his strings, and the roar of the audience was enough to emit a smile on his face and a warmth in his heart. The conclusion of every show reminded him that this was what he had trained so hard for. The opportunity of a lifetime. He was lucky — he was a Broadway performer.

Louis didn’t fit the mold of a Broadway performer, however.

Louis adorned the typical ‘street-chic’ style that most uptown New Yorkers took upon themselves. He was average-height, even could be considered on the shorter scale for a male his age, and wore clothes that consisted of cool earth tones, black and white, the occasional blazer-and-slacks combo, and short-sleeved button-up shirts. There was hardly anything notable about his ensemble of clothing, height, tousled brown hair, and tendency to shove away reality by pushing headphones into his ears.

Harry Styles was more of the type to be recognized as a performer. Everything about the man was a show in of itself — his sheer blouses with custom embroidery, high-waisted and flare-legged trousers, abstract tattoos, incredibly pearly white teeth, and the way he stood idly with his hands resting on his hips and his right leg jutted out ever-so-slightly. Louis felt as if he could write a whole book of poetry about the complexity and the beauty of Harry Styles — a poetry book because Harry was abstract and a typical book composed of streams of consciousness and confessions of attraction would be too ‘to-the-point’ for a man of his nature.

Louis felt his body go into autopilot as he allowed himself to be immersed by the comfort of Harry’s voice filling the concert hall. His fingers moved mechanically, strumming his bow over the strings in the same mechanical fashion that they performed almost every day of the week. The sheet music blurred into splotches of black ink on the music stand as Louis played — his body going through the motions of playing but his heart beating for the leading role on stage singing and smiling to a crowd of directors and stagehands.

The opener steadily came to a close, and Louis was given a brief moment to rest his violin on his knee and regain his composure. He was dying to talk with Harry again. All he needed was a brief moment alone with Harry, sharing a conversation that only the two of them would ever remember, ending their sentences with side smirks and gentle nods. He wanted to hear Harry’s slow pronunciation of words — pink lips carving the sounds as they left his mouth to fall upon Louis’s eager ears.   
Louis wanted to be anywhere but in the pit where the shadows of the stage-lights reached their darkest, reminding him of how much he wanted to take a classic Sunday afternoon nap.

As rehearsal strode forward, Louis felt the anticipation of the nearing performance begin to claw at his veins. Sunday afternoon shows brought in a different crowd than the typical group of night-life New Yorkers that came in during the other nights of the week. The crowd on Sunday afternoon were quieter, more relaxed, often wearing clothes that they had wore to church or casual outfits that they had rolled out of bed into before trotting out of the door. They held warm smiles throughout the entirety of the show, clapping thunderously at every big moment and shushing into silence at every solemn one.

The Sunday crowd alleviated a lot of the performance pressure off of the performers. Louis, however, somehow felt the pang of nervousness still burning in his stomach — embers that were still hot from the two shows the night before. It was as if his heart was still on fire from the exchange he had spent with Harry Styles outside of the theatre, headlights illuminating the outlines of their lips and moonlight coating their words in a delicate silver color.

After letting the last note of the musical resonate within the air, Louis lowered his violin and cast a backwards glance to center stage where Harry was standing — wearing the high-heeled boots and blue boxer shorts. Liam, not dressed in the typical drag look, was standing next to him with crinkled eyes and a huge smile. Louis forgot for a second that Liam was not Lola outside of costume and makeup, which threw him off for a brief second.

“Beautiful work, everyone!” the director called, emerging from backstage while clapping his hands. Harry put his two hands together and bowed in thanks, immediately transitioning from Charlie Price back to Harry Styles — the humbled, unique, mystery of a man that he was. 

Liam patted Harry on the back. “Wonderful, wonderful,” he exclaimed. “It’s going to be a great show this afternoon, definitely.”

After a few announcements, the cast was dismissed. The actors were quickly ushered off to costume and makeup. The stagehands got to work arranging the stage with props and backdrops, setting the scene for the opening act that would start the musical in just over an hour. The musicians were instructed to change into their black outfits backstage, and were given an exact time to be back in their chairs with their instruments tuned and bows rosined. 

Louis hardly breathed a sigh before Niall was at his side, the scent of his cheap cologne immediately hitting his nostrils with the same cheeky ignorance that Niall seemed to roll himself in every morning. “How’s the playing today?” he asked chipperly, Louis turning his head to meet his glance for a brief second before continuing to place his violin in its case.

“Pretty alright,” Louis answered, strands of brown hair falling in front of his face as he looked down. “Ready for the show to be over. Nervous for some reason.”

“Nervous? On a Sunday?” Niall repeated, a clear look of shock widening on his face. “I don’t know if I’ve ever heard of Tommo being _nervous_.”

Louis shot the Irishman a sharp glance before turning back again to zip his case and slide it underneath the chair. “Oh, quiet,” he groaned, eyes rolling. “I know it sounds weird. I don’t know, maybe I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

“I can understand that,” Niall sympathized, walking beside Louis as the two made their way towards the dressing room backstage. During the weeknight shows, most of the pit members would go back to their flats to change, with only a select few using the changing rooms. On Sundays, however, with such a short time of rest in between practice and performance, the dressing room designated for the pit members was teeming with activity to the point where it made Louis nauseous upon entry. 

The scent of hairspray immediately hit Louis’s nose upon pushing open the door into the dressing room. Girls, already dressed in their black dresses or blazer-and-pant combos were already curling their hair and painting on their makeup in front of any reflective space in sight. Men were straightening their ties, slicking gel into their hair and polishing their shoes in any empty space that they found to do so. Louis, after having been in the room for a collective ten seconds, already felt overwhelmed and exhausted.

Groaning, Louis made his way over towards the back wall where his black clothing had been hung up earlier. His outfit was yet another variation of the same ensemble that was worn almost every weeknight, except for this blazer had faint, matte-black paisley-printing on it’s fabric. It had been a costly purchase but Louis had fallen in love with the blazer upon seeing it and knew that it had to make it into his closet no matter how big of a chunk it took out of his paycheck. 

Louis dressed, uncomfortably brushing against Niall while doing so. Soon, the dressing room became a sea of black as each pit member began to form their outfits and complete their looks for the upcoming showing. Most of the men left the crowded space upon dressing, the outliers only taking time to add product to their hair or chat with the girls that were left doing their makeup. Louis used the extra space to spray hairspray into his hair and form it into a stylish quiff. 

“How do I look, Nialler?” Louis asked upon the completion of fixing his hair, turning around to where Niall was cuffing his sleeves.

“Oh, fantastic, Tommo,” Niall spoke with a cheeky smile, his blonde hair teased and sprayed as well. Louis couldn’t help but think of what Harry was doing in his own personal dressing room in this moment. He could imagine him sitting in a chair with _Styles_ embroidered on the back, eyes closed as women caked his face with foundation and painted highlighter on his cheekbones. A tall glass of champagne probably fizzed on his countertop, sparkling with the lights that shone from the mirror in front of him that also cast a golden glow onto his skin.

Louis felt his heart swell. In a few minutes he would see Harry again, this time in costume with stage lights illuminating the pink in his lips. Louis doubted that Harry would see him, though, and doubted he would even notice the detail on his jacket that he was so proud of. Pit members dress to similarly for anyone to notice any detail about their looks. It was the way that the job was, unfortunately.

“You look great too,” Louis replied, reaching out a hand to pat Niall on the back. “Let’s knock this Sunday show out of the water, hm?”

With a nod, Niall finished cuffing his sleeves and followed Louis out into the hall, a wave of fresh, unscented air washing over them as they made their way back to the pit, adrenaline pulsating through their veins and the roar of crowds past echoing in their brains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been so long and i've been so busy


End file.
